The Night Claims its Own
by Kurieo Parnok
Summary: Sullivan Hooper knows that he's not normal, but his true identity may be a bit more than what he can handle. This is adventure as he seeks his past.
1. Meet Sullivan Hooper

**Summary: Sullivan Hooper knows that he's not normal, but is he willing to accept what his real identity is? Follow his adventure as he attempts to unlock his past.**

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 1: Meet Sullivan Hooper**

_He was playing in the desert at night. Well, not exactly playing, but he was doing something fast and enjoyable similar to it. It was a mixture of dodging non-existent blows and dancing. The desert wasn't really a desert, either; just a wide expanse of rolling hills. Was it covered in sand, dirt, or grass? He couldn't tell; some things you just can't tell with dreams. There were some pyramids, shrunk down to size, and there was a street of a Wild West town, and over there was a couple of shrunken down Chinese temples. The moon was enormous and full over head, bathing everything in a mystic blue light. Some how, all these things were connected._

_But right now, he was running among them and other fun-sized environments, jumping up on trash cans and cars and running along clothes lines between buildings like some over-caffeinated kid. This was fun and exciting! Any moment now, the police would show up behind him, their sirens wailing for him to stop it and Carmelita would be there, shooting at him with her bazooka and making the chase all the more enjoyable._

_He whooped and jumped in the air, doing a front-flip even as he spun around and landed in a crouch on top of a fence at the end of an ally way, facing Carmelita and her gang. But he was too slow and the dream became a nightmare._

_Red laser shots flew by over Carmelita's head, striking Sullivan in the shoulder and knocking him backwards off the fence and into a black abyss there. He felt something flowing out of him, something more important than blood or life, being sucked into the darkness and making him old and weak, making him dumb and normal, making him… making him…_

"Sullivan, wake up!"

Sullivan Hooper woke up with a jerk, cold sweat soaking his grey fur and his large ears perked up in terror. Standing over him was his room mate, keeper, and ever attractive friend, Inspector Carmelita Fox, a gorgeous vixen with indigo-black hair. Currently, she was standing over his bed in her red night gown, shaking him awake from his nightmare, which was already nothing but a distant impression as his foggy mind woke up. Sullivan looked around and found himself not in the strange desert landscape, but in his own bland little room in New York City, New York. There was his closet and his dresser, only half-full with his small wardrobe, and there was his out fit laid out for him for his next day of work as an accountant at the local bank. To his right, the north, there was a balcony over looking the streets below. Very little else decorated the room.

"W-What happened? Was I talking in my sleep again, Caramel?" Sullivan asked.

Carmelita smiled down at the raccoon man for using her pet name and joked, "Talking? More like _screaming_! This time you kept moaning like some ghost! Almost made me start waking up shooting…"

"Burnt tail hair for breakfast, yuck," Sullivan chuckled.

"Better than what _you_ cook, He-Who-Burns-Lettuce!"

"Hey, I thought it would be a nice touch to warm it up a little!"

"In a frying pan on the oven?"

"Don't make me remind you of the time you tried cooking a gourmet meal for the land lord in less than half an hour."

"Will our neighbors ever forgive us for the smell?"

"No."

The both laughed over the fond memories.

Sullivan Hooper was eternally grateful to Carmelita Fox for taking him in. Ever since he had woken up one day with no memory of his past in a hospital in Hawaii five months ago, he had been absolutely helpless. No one had claimed him at the hospital, no one had any recorded knowledge of him, and no one knew him, not even himself. He had been a creation of nothing. Carmelita had been there to take care of him and try finding his family or at least friends, but no one knew anything of him. Hence, when nothing could be found of his past, Carmelita had helped him reconstruct his life by adopting him a new name, getting him a job, and allowing him to live with her. He was strangely good at numbers, which helped greatly with his job as an accountant. She and he were best friends and life seemed pretty good for the amnesia patient.

Yet, there were some holes Sullivan just couldn't repair. First, he was clumsy. Seriously, he was so clumsy that he could trip on air. All of Carmelita's dishware was of plastic for that reason. He also couldn't think clearly on most days. Everything just seemed to be in a slow motion fog that made him somewhat dull or simply bored.

He couldn't ever decide on what to wear, for another thing. Everything he saw just seemed to dull or just _off_ on him and hence, he almost always wore his near-identical work suits every where, even to party events. In some cases, Carmelita had had to buy him a casual out fit or two just so he wouldn't look so stiff at parties, even though he always wound up being a charming host or guest. Another thing in his fashion taste was that he always wore sunglasses, feeling naked with out them. He never knew why, he just always wore regular sunglasses to cover his eyes that would other wise make him feel nervous, twitchy, and nude. Hence, no one _really_ knew what Sullivan's face looked like, unadorned, and he had even been mistaken for a blind man on the days when the fog had been thick enough in his mind to make him an idiot.

Then there was Sullivan's restlessness. Every day he would wake up, feeling something odd about seeing the sun before noon, and he would get through his day, always feeling like something big was about to happen. This feeling would reach fever pitch as the sun went down and on most nights, it was extremely difficult for him to even get to sleep as he would suddenly feel an overwhelming desire to exercise or do some sort of extreme physical activity. This had been cured somewhat when he joined an amateur hockey team, which usually practiced hard enough to make him too tired for night time activities. Carmelita had been in disapproval of this, considering that there was a gambling ring around the underground hockey game. But she put up with it, just being grateful that she could go to sleep without having Sullivan waking her up in the middle of the night for a pillow fight or a movie or _something_. Honestly, he was such a little kid sometimes…

But the worst of the holes in Sullivan's reconstructed life were his nightmares. They would always start pleasant enough with him playing in some night-time setting or building a puzzle, but it would always turn into a nightmare. The puzzle block he played with would become a metal monster attacking him in an enclosed space. The playing would become running from something that wanted to change him in a bad way. But the nightmares never ended with him being bloodied or dying or almost dying. They ended in a way that was worst, according to Sullivan; he would be falling in darkness and his very essence, something of utter importance, would be taken from him. That feeling of loss of something as important as his identity… that was the worst part of the nightmares.

Now, Sullivan's laughter died and in the silence, he stared at the balcony with a sad look in his eyes. He wanted to stand on the balcony, but standing didn't seem like enough. Maybe he should decorate it with lanterns? Yeah, little Chinese colored lanterns to brighten it up, but was it enough?

"Are you thinking about lanterns again?" Carmelita yawned, lying down in the bed beside Sullivan.

"Is it that obvious?" Sullivan chuckled, inching to the side to make room for her.

"You wouldn't stop talking about it for the past three weeks over dinner," Carmelita said, pausing briefly to yawn again. She snuggled into the blankets as she mumbled, "Maybe you'll shut up if we just get some lanterns already. Maybe some tiny Japanese ones…"

"Yeah, blue ones," Sullivan muttered.

Sullivan didn't notice Carmelita's ear perk up in worry, but she was tired and her eyes closed as

She drifted away into sleep. Sullivan smiled and stroked her dark hair, watching her beautiful face rest in such a calm, peaceful expression. It was a pretty face, but not as attractive as when she was angry. He had seen it gnashing in anger when she stomped home on some nights, down right angry that some idiot at Interpol had poked fun at her for being a female detective, or the fact that some criminal had slipped away yet again. Crime rates were going up again, now that Sullivan remembered it. He wondered what had been keeping them down before.

With these unrelated thoughts drifting around in Sullivan's foggy mind, he drifted to sleep with his arm around Carmelita's shoulders, bathed in night silence and inches from her dark embrace.


	2. Work

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 2: Work**

Sullivan Hopper always arrived at the Wilson's New York Bank at exactly 9:25 AM every morning from Monday to Saturday for his job as an accountant there. He would enter the doors at 9:20 AM, cross the expansive, expensive, polished white and golden yellow marble floor in exactly one minute, nod to Todd, one of the squirrel counter men, and make brief three-or-four-line small talk. From there, it took exactly four minutes to get to his desk in the back, draw out the papers and calculator from his suit case, thus showing up at work five minute early. He would sit there all day, crunching numbers, until he took a break at noon for lunch. After the fifteen-minute break, he would return to work until five o' clock in the afternoon, later, if he were working on the account of some one important.

Then he would go home, pick up his hockey equipment, and join his team at the local, run down YMCA and practice with them until eight or nine, perhaps ten at night if there was a game, and eleven if it was a _good_ game. Then he would go home, have some re-heated dinner, shower, and go to sleep, all with in half an hour of coming home.

Today was no different.

Sullivan strode across the large floor on which customers scuttled across quickly, oblivious of the enormous arched marble ceiling over head. A brown squirrel man nodded to Sullivan as he passed by.

"Morning, Todd, how goes the wife and baby?" Sullivan asked.

"She'll be do any day now," was the squirrel's reply.

"Great, good luck!"

"Thank you, Mr. Hooper. Desk!"

Sullivan ran into the corner of a desk, biting his tongue to hold back a squeak of pain. He always ran into that stupid desk…

"You okay?" Todd asked.

A thumbs up sign was the lie from Sullivan.

In the back there were six rows of five desks, all filled with accountants and other number crunchers, helping to clear up credit debt, consulting customers about where they could invest their money, telling them about changes in money, and the like. Sullivan sat down at his own simple desk, adorned with a lonely phone and a cup of pens and pencils, and set his grey suit case down on the desk. He opened it, retrieved several papers, a calculator (which he dropped on the floor and had to pick up), and began his work.

It was a regular day of Sullivan. The world faded into its boring fog around him and his brain obediently numbed itself, focusing solely on the numbers. How much money would this man have if he set it at such an amount with such an interest for so many years? Stuff like that; nothing was out of normal for the sunny, winter day. Why had he to suspect otherwise?

But something different happened that day.

"Hooper!" Todd called, appearing in the door way to the back room. "There's a guy up front requesting you specifically!"

Sullivan pulled himself from his number-filled fog and got up wordlessly to follow the squirrel man to the front. It wasn't unheard of for a specific number cruncher to be called to the front of the back once in a while.

_It better not be that cat lady expecting inheritance from her lost aunt again_, he thought miserably. _It's always a tail yank when ever she comes around. Lady can barely speak English…_

But it was not some deranged old cat lady at the counter this time, but an iguana. Emerald green, tall, and lanky, he had a bad slouch and was dressed in a bright turquoise suit, complete with a wide-brimmed hat. In the pink-and-white-blotched hat brim was a tall, bubble-gum pink feather that matched the pink diamond wrist cuffs and shirt. The explosion of color of an iguana glowed against the black and grey suits of the people already there and was unusually informal against the yellow and white marble. Many people glanced over at him, but no one was rude enough to inquire what the dunce the lizard was here for.

The iguana peered over his round sun glasses at Sullivan, looking him up and down as he snapped on some bubble gum. He was leaning up against the counter like it was his favorite bar counter, in spite of the bronze bars between him and Sullivan.

"Hey," the iguana said in a smooth voice, "'coon man, name's DD,DD 'Ladies' God' Dorm, I'm looking to stash my cash somewhere safe and cozy like my momma's belly and I heard you got the smarts to insure this better than a hot car. What can we do, man?"

Everybody with in ear shot turned and stared at the iguana. Todd, standing behind Sullivan, reared his head back as his tail puffed in confusion and his ears laid back in confusion. It was just… unusual.

Sullivan was hit with two different feelings, both as unusual as the lizard's style of speech. The first feeling was that Sullivan was expecting; mild disapproval and annoyance that this _pimp boy_ was acting so atrociously in this bank—they had politicians and celebrities putting their money in here, not _DJ daddies!_

And yet…

And yet, the second feeling cleared the fog around Sullivan somewhat for the first time in his recalled memory, not banishing it, but making it at least less thick. He felt… comforted.

"Well," Sullivan began, flashing a friendly smile to the lizard, "I'm Sullivan Hooper, the accountant you requested for. What kind of account would you like?"

They stood there for half an hour before the lizard, DD "Ladies' God" Dorm (what kind of a _name_…?), had his priorities in order. Things were interesting when they came to filling out the career DD had.

"And what is your career, Mr. Dorm?" Hooper inquired, pen poised over the paper.

"Frogman," the lizard stated.

Hooper looked at him.

"Um, Mr. Dorm, you're an iguana."

"Yeap."

"So, what's your occupation?"

"I already told you man; I'm a frogman!"

"Mr. Dorm, you can only either be a lizard man or a frog man, now which are you?"

"I'm a lizard frogman!"

Hooper sighed, slumping over the counter, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Clarify for me, Mr. Dorm," he pleaded. "What do you do to make money?"

Dorm stared at Hooper for a long time, as if trying to figure out how to answer that. Finally, the very tip of his long tail twitched and he swallowed.

"I… dive… for… sunken treasure?" he suggested.

"You don't sound very sure of yourself, Mr. Dorm," Hooper warned. He didn't want to be wasting a form on some one living off of his daddy's money or stealing it from honest, hard-working citizens.

"Oh, sorry, dude," DD sad, "Trying to hold back a—"

His sentence was cut off by an enormous, obnoxious, loud _burp_. Everyone turned to stare at him briefly.

"Sorry," DD chuckled. "Must've been from some of those spicy, spicy nacho bro-bros I had last night, man."

"Your occupation?" Hooper asked for what he hoped was the final time.

"I dive for stuff," DD replied. "Find lost stuff, take pictures for nature magazines, stuff like that."

"Thank you," Hooper sighed, scrawling _diver_ into the space marked **Occupation**.

After some signing on the dotted lining, the form was complete as was Hooper's job with DD "Ladies' God" Dorm.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you, Mr. Dorm," Sullivan with genuine friendliness as he shook Dorm's long-fingered, scaled hand. The touch felt familiar.

"Sure, sure, it'll be cool working with a ring tail man with diggin' shades like that!" Dorm said with a wink.

He turned away and threw a hand up in good bye as he left.

"Dig you later, Cooper!"

"_Hooper_," Sullivan corrected.

But the iguana was already gone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"…And then he just strutted on out of there," Sullivan told Kyle. "Didn't even look back.

"You think he's with the Mafia?" the sea lion asked, his large black eyes fixed on tonight's opposing team.

Sullivan was at hockey practice and was telling Kyle the runty sea lion, one of his hockey team mates, about DD Dorm. They were in full red and white hockey gear and for once, Sullivan wasn't being the strong-silent type. Across the underground YMCA ice rink from them was a team of brawny red and green-colored opponents. Kyle and several other of Sullivan's team mates seemed nervous about the larger foes, but Sullivan seemed oblivious of the tail-beating-to-come.

"No, no, this guy seemed to friendly to be with the mob, not as cocky," Sullivan disagreed. "Besides, the mob never wears flashy turquoise suits or pimp hats."

Any team mates who ever heard him turned to stare at him.

"How do you _know_ that?" Kyle asked.

_Yeah, how __do__ you know that, Sully?_ Sullivan questioned himself, just as surprised as his teammates about what had popped out of his mouth.

"Um, how do you know if I'm right?" he asked quickly.

The brawny hare referee's whistle tweeted, signaling the start of the game. Half an hour later, Sullivan was sliding along on the ice around his team's goalie, protecting it and watching the puck get kicked around the ice, but his mind was miles away.

_Why does that lizard feel so familiar to me?_ He thought, remembering DD 'Ladies' God' Dorm. _I'm sure that I would remember some one so colorful if we'd met before. Hey! Maybe he's from my past--!_

"Sullivan, look out!" Kyle bellowed.

A black shape raced for Sullivan across the ice and Sullivan moved his hockey stick in time to keep the puck from sliding between his feet and into the goal net. He looked up and saw the other team charging towards him. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was run or hide under something. But since neither option was available, he took the next best thing.

He ducked, his feet moving themselves apart, as the other team came upon him. He swung his stick up, catching a Dalmatian in the stomach and flipping him over. Sullivan's tail tucked up in time to avoid being run over and sliced off by the enemy players' ice skates. He knocked a cougar in the face with his stick before he whacked at the puck, sending it flying across the ice.

"Kyle! Score it!" he yelled.

The sea lion swung at the puck, tossing it to a pygmy elephant.

"Shoot, Jorge, shoot!" Kyle yelled.

The elephant did and the bear acting as the other teams' goalie failed to stop the puck from sliding into the net just as the buzzer rang. Sullivan's team had won. The cougar Sullivan had hit snarled as he yanked off his helmet and stood, towering over the already tall Sullivan.

"Oh don't get snappy just because your mothers decided that Christmas colors were a good color scheme for you," Sullivan sighed to the cougar with uncharacteristic boldness. "Do you still wear her Christmas sweaters, too?"

The cougar roared and lunged for Sullivan, claws and teeth drawn. The cougar's team mates, though, moved to stop him while the Dalmatian that Sullivan had knocked over actually pushed him away from the cougar before turning to stop the feline from killing Sullivan. Sullivan slammed against the wall of the ice ring, falling on his tail end as his helmet jolted on his head and became crooked on him, covering his eyes.

Someone slid up beside him and helped him to his feet.

"S-Sullivan, are you okay?" a gravely masculine voice asked.

"Yeah," Sullivan chuckled. "I was asking for it."

"Sure were," someone growled.

Sullivan adjusted his helmet so he could see and saw only the Dalmatian standing in front of him, fists on his hips. Sullivan looked around, but saw no trace of the other speaker.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Sullivan said, holding a hand out to the spotted dog. "I guess my mouth gets away from me sometimes."

"Just like the puck when it heads towards the winning goal!" Kyle shouted triumphantly from the other end of the ice ring where the rest of Sullivan's team was celebrating.

The Dalmatian smirked and rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but took the offered hand and shook it.

"No problem. Oh, and sorry about Ben over there, the cougar; he's got a temper. Um, what's your name?"

"Sullivan."

"You can't have him!" Kyle called over.

"Shut up and get back to gloating!" Sullivan yelled over to him.

"Hi, I'm Kent, Kent Rashfuner. Right, Sullivan, um, where'd you learn moves like that? With the whole flip-me-over thing," the Dalmatian went on. "I'm into martial arts and… stuff like that, but I never learned anything like that. How'd you do it?"

"Oh, that? Well, I just…" Sullivan tired spinning his hockey stick in his hand and flinched when he failed. "Did it."

Then he lost his footing and fell on his tail end again. He laughed nervously at the surprised Kent.

"Clumsy," Sullivan squealed.

Kent smiled and helped Sullivan to his feet, chuckling, "Eh, it happens. Hey, who was that guy you were talking to? The guy who helped you up the first time?"

"I don't know, couldn't see him."

"Oh, that's—" Kent stopped short of saying something and spun around quickly to rejoin his team. "Check ya around. Sully!" he called over his shoulder.

Sullivan was left behind, wondering what the heck was up with the dog.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"…then he just turned around and slid away," Sullivan said, finishing telling Carmelita about his day over a meal of Chinese noodles while they sat on the couch and watched TV. "I mean, my day's been full of weird people today."

"Hmm, I can't speak for the lizard or who ever talked to you at the rink, but I know that Kent guy, "Carmelita said, sucking some noodles off of her chop sticks.

"You do?" Sly asked.

"Yeah," Carmelita replied, chewing through some noodles. "He's a fed, an FBI agent, working on some murder case here in the city."

"What's he doing on an amateur hockey team?"

"I guess there's a whole gang of feds running around. Must be part of their cover."

"Oh…" Sullivan said.

They sat on the couch for several minutes, watching some B-rate comedy show. Sullivan picked up the remote and turned the TV off. Carmelita began to object, but Sullivan spoke.

"Carmel," he said excitedly. "I think I know Dorm!"

"DD '_Ladies' God'_ Dorm?" Carmelita asked with a confused grimace. "What kind of life would you have to live to know a whack job like _him_?"

"I don't know, but I want to see!" Sullivan said eagerly, getting up. "I'm going to bed early. Tomorrow, I'm going to contact him while at work and see—"

"S-Sully!" Carmelita exclaimed.

Sullivan turned back to her, confusion crossing his face. "What is it, Carmelita? I thought we _wanted_ to uncover my past."

Carmelita choked, realizing that she had acted unusual, then waved her hand.

"Please, let me check his background first; he just might be apart of the Mob."

Sullivan shrugged and replied easily, "Okay, you do that. Good night."

Once Carmelita was sure that Sullivan was asleep, she went to her own room, locking the door behind her, and dialed number into her cell phone as she went to sit on a window seat over looking the back alley of her and Sullivan's apartment building. A more rouge-like view than Sullivan's room, but Carmelita didn't want the raccoon to get any ideas.

The person being called picked up on the second ring.

"_Agent Kent Rashfuner, what's up?"_

"He noticed you acting weird at the rink today, Kent," Carmelita growled.

"_Sorry. I just got so surprised when he flipped me over while game play that I lost my cool for a moment. At least not as bad a Agent Ben, but Carmelita! The way he moved with that stick—wow! The way he's so clumsy, you couldn't even tell that he was capable—"_

"He said that someone talked to him, but he didn't see their face. Who was it, Kent?"

"_Some hippo. Got in and out too fast to—"_

"Keep that hippo _away from him._ If he shows up again, evidence or no, arrest him, got it?"

"_Yeah, yeah! Jeez, getting over protective of our __pet__, now, aren't we?"_

Carmelita didn't answer because she had flung her cell phone against the wall.


	3. Da Big Guy

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 3: Da Big Guy**

_There were no images tonight in the dream realm; just blackness lit by flashing red and blue lights like a simple night club light show. Police sirens were whooping non-stop. Sullivan wanted to open his eyes and yell out the apartment window for the cops to turn their stupid sirens and lights off, but he was stuck where he was in the blackness. Something heavy and made of glass clunked over onto a hard floor and foot steps approached. A door opened in front of Sullivan in the darkness and the foot steps entered._

_"Hey! Who's there?" a man snarled._

_Something whistled through the air before it cracked onto something soft. The man grunted and there was a thump as he hit the floor. Someone chuckled slightly and the police sirens and lights faded from sight and sound as almost-silent foot falls pattered away. Sullivan saw a figure running away from him in the darkness with something long in hand and something small on their back. The back object twinkled in the darkness then faded out, leaving behind only blackness._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sullivan opened his eyes and checked his clock, then rolled over and groaned. He was up four hours before his accustomed waking hour. This same thing had been going on for a week and a half ever since DD "Ladies' God" Dorm had walked into the bank. Sullivan wasn't getting some very good sleep, but Carmelita was thankful that he managed to go to bed at a regular time. Well, at least she _thought_ she was thankful; it was sad to see Sullivan looking so exhausted.

Sullivan lied in bed, staring out at the dark dawn outside and at the barren-looking balcony. Some people put up flower boxes on their balconies. Should he put up flower boxes? No, he would probably neglect the flowers and they would die, being a huge waste of time and money. But something was needed to decorate and liven it up. Perhaps he could set up lanterns? Yeah; tiny blue Japanese lanterns, all glowing and clacking together in the breeze…

With these thoughts circling his mind, he managed to drift to sleep and catch some Z's before his job.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tuesday was as standard a Tuesday that day as Monday was a standard Monday yesterday. Sullivan entered the bank, suit case in hand and bundled against the cold. He slipped on the wet marble floor three times before getting to Todd.

"Slippery today, Mr. Hooper?"

"Better believe it," Sullivan grunted, walking by the squirrel with a stoop in his back.

"Desk."

A thump marked that Todd was too late and a pained squeak was strangled in Sullivan's throat. Three hours later a bell rang as noon struck. Half the counter people left their stations. Almost every one in the back room brought out packed lunches or called over interns to laden down with their orders so that they could brave the snow out side to go to Starbucks and get the orders filled. Sullivan was about to dig into his own lunch of baloney and cheese sandwich and a carrot with a bottled water when he heard a quiet, nervous commotion out front. Curious, he shook away the fog in his mind and set his sandwich down to go up front. Todd and two dog counter men, the only ones on duty, were arguing quietly amongst themselves.

"What's the matter?" Sullivan asked.

"There is a freaking _huge_ panda out there," the terrier dog whimpered, cracking the door opened and pointing outside.

Sure enough, out side there was a giant of a panda man in a trench coat with a fedora standing at the empty counters. Sullivan's eyes widened in shock at the size of the bear and his tail hit the floor with a small thump. He was big enough to break the bars with his bare fists! Sullivan looked at the frightened counter men and saw that there was no chance on this side of the hell that they were going out there. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, picking his tail off the ground, and adjusted his shady glasses.

"We have a _bank_ to run," he muttered sternly before marching out to the counters.

"My hero," one of the dog counter men squeaked lovingly.

Sullivan threw up his best smile as he came to the counter and tilted his head back (_way_ back), to look up at the enormous panda man.

"Hello, welcome to Wilson's New York Bank, my apologies for your wait. I am Sullivan Hooper, how may I help you?"

"I am Mr. Yang. I want to open up trust fund for grandchild," the bear said in a deep, slow voice.

"Oh? What a lucky tyke, having such a caring grandfather!" Sullivan complimented, drawing a small smile from the enormous panda.

"Thank you," Mr. Yang said, bowing.

Sullivan found himself returning the bow, much to his own surprise.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"…And he was a rather nice guy, too," Sullivan chattered to Carmelita over their Chinese take out. "I mean, sure, he was the size of a freaking _mountain_, but—"

"H-How b-big was he?" Carmelita squeaked. Sullivan had failed to notice that she had stopped eating and was now staring at Sullivan with clear discomfort to the subject of conversation.

Sullivan thought a moment, then put his box of food down and stood up on the couch.

"Never mind, never mind," Carmelita instantly objected. "Too tall, too tall…"

"So, did you check out Dorm yet?" Sullivan asked, sitting back down and stuffing his face with food.

"Oh, um, the lizard man," Carmelita asked.

"Yeap," Sullivan replied through a mouth full. "Is he clean? Can I talk to him?"

'Oh, yeah, sure," Carmelita said quietly. "He's-he's clean. But, um, just be careful, okay? There are a lot of smart alecks out there who slip through the cracks all the time."

Sullivan replied through all the rice in his mouth something akin to, "I will."

"And eat with your mouth closed!" Carmelita snapped. "That's disgusting!"

One of Sullivan's eye brows rose as he smirked before sticking out his mashed-rice-covered tongue. Carmelita squealed and whacked a hand at him, but he retreated, swallowing his food, and set his box down quickly before Carmelita picked up a pillow and began chasing him around the apartment.

An hour later, Sullivan was fast asleep on the couch. Carmelita leaned over the back of it and smiled, twitching the tip of Sullivan's ear playfully. His ear flapped and he yawned, but the raccoon man did not move. Carmelita smiled, but then the smile disappeared as she looked up. Going into the kitchen where the main phone was, she glanced into the living room one last time at Sullivan before dialing a number. After three rings, a familiar voice picked up, sounding agitated.

"_This better be good."_

"Agent Rashfuner," Carmelita greeted.

"_Oh, hello, Inspector Fox. You pet hasn't bitten yet, has he?"_

"He's _not_ my _pet_," Carmelita growled through clenched teeth.

"_Okay, okay, no need to go feral. So, what can I do for you? But make sure it's not too big, please, because that bank gang just robbed another money basket dry and we didn't even get so much as a clue—"_

"There's an iguana man, DD 'Ladies' God' Dorm," Carmelita interrupted. "I want you to get him out of town."

"_I heard of him; green whacko, right? What, you think he's…?"_

"Do you want to take chances?"

"_Right, get the Ladies' Man outa town. Should be simple enough…"_


	4. Taxi

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 4: Taxi**

_All was silent in the long hall, lined with painted canvases all lit up in shades of blue and darkness by what little moon light and city light fell through the sky light in the tall ceiling. A blue heron in security guard garb walked slowly down the hall, his flash light swinging back and forth in front of him as he looked from side to side at the paintings. He stopped in a part of particular darkness, lifting his flash light at a particular painting and extended his neck slightly to get a better look. He tilted his head, making a humming noise of approval. Behind him, a large hook dropped down and tapped him on the shoulder._

_The heron spun around, gasping in surprise. At this point in movies, the guard would still be looking around as something scary drooled on him from the ceiling before mauling him to death just as he looked up. But this time, he looked up __before__ drool fell on him. He gasped, his eyes widening, before a black shape fell down to the floor beside him. Before he could act, the shape stood, pushing them selves at an angle, and whacked the heron, first in the stomach, then in the back of the head. A final flick of the cane the figure held had the ring of keys at the heron's waist going up even as the heron went down. The figure snatched up the keys with one hand while the other held the cane. The person pocketed the keys even as they walked around the fallen heron, speaking smugly to no one in particular._

_"Heh, that was too easy," he chuckled._

_The person, a canine-special creature with a bushy tail of some sort, strode confidently into a room at the end of the hall where many expensive, beautiful gemmed art works lined the wall. In the center of the room, protected by a net of red lasers, was a beautiful crystal sculpture of a rabbit woman appearing to form from water. Sullivan tried to focus on the figure, but colors faded and lines jerked around, keeping him from focusing on specific details._

_The bushy-tailed burglar slid a key into a pedestal in front of the gem statue's own and turned the key. The lasers shrank and disappeared as they turned off. The burglar picked up the statue, holding it in his hand. A sharp-toothed, sly grin crossed their face and that grin was the last thing Sullivan saw as._

He came back to reality. Sullivan was lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, waking up _hours_ before a healthy wake up time again, but his mind was wide awake and picking at the dream he had just experienced. Who was the burglar? Where did that dream come from? It seemed too clear and real to be just a random dream. What did it mean? Could the burglar have been him?

_No,_ he thought, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. _That man was… Calm, cool, confident, and cocky, and I am… not. I'm just… not. Plus, those __moves__! Wow, if I could do those moves—_

His memory flashed back to the hockey game when he had flipped Kent the Dalmatian over with his hockey stick. But as quick as it was there, it was already gone and he couldn't figure out what the message was. He was tired…

Thus exhausted, the fog in Sullivan's mind closed around him once more and by morning he had forgotten the whole thing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sullivan had to stay until seven that day when he found himself working on a politician's rather complicated balance. By the time he finally started walking home, the night was a black sheet over head, floating in a teasing way just beyond the city lights' grasp. Passing by a 7-11 store, he saw a turtle hobo in a wheel chair with a heavily-bundled, small koala in his lap. Both were holding up empty coffee mugs for change.

Acting on impulse, Sullivan stopped and with drew a couple of tens, placing a bill in each of their cups. Usually, he would just drop some coins in such persons' cups or ignore them, but he was feeling particularly good tonight. Perhaps it was the fresh, crisp, cool air… or as fresh as city air can get, anyway.

"Do you need a place to stay?" Sullivan asked them. "I have an apartment just up the way."

Okay, so technically it was _Carmelita's _apartment, and she would kill him if he started bringing home strays, but…

The turtle and koala shook their heads, smiling and bobbing their heads in thanks before the turtle wheeled away. Sullivan watched them go, then looked skyward as snow flakes began to fall on him once again. That black sky…. He just wanted to reach up and touch it…

"Gonna be a cold night; wanna ride?"

Sullivan looked up at the speaker an saw that it was a rather brawny pink hippo standing outside his taxi cab. Dressed almost entirely in brown, complete with fingerless gloves, a matching cap, and a white scarf, this taxi driver knew his stuff when it came to his work. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the taxi.

"I'm not waiting for anyone, and I'm cheap," he said.

Sullivan smiled and went to the taxi.

"Eh, sure, why not?" he asked.

A couple minutes later, Sullivan was sitting in the back of the taxi and the hippo driver, squeezed into the cab's little driver's seat, was driving him home with rather good driving adequate. He didn't honk his horn rudely when some one cut him off or cuss another driver out for being slow. Sullivan watched him, feeling like he should say something. Yet, then again, why should he say something? It was just a taxi driver, like every other taxi driver in the city, and there was little to no chance that they would meet again. Was that why they should talk, because they would never meet again? Hey, why was he debating so much about this, anyway? Ugh, now his mind was foggier than usual, it must be the heat…

"So, got a family?" the hippo asked.

Odd question, or not really, oh, jeez, Sullivan's head was spinning. What was it about this guy!?

"Um, no, not yet," Sullivan said.

"Got a girl?"

"Um, kinda. She's sorta my room mate and caretaker."

"Caretaker?"

"Yeah, I lost my memory a few months ago and haven't been able to get it back. Without my friend, I would never have been able to make it on my own with no birth records, no job skills, and no past."

"Must be some gal," the driver complimented.

"She sure is. Her neighborhood used to be a dump before she took out all the bad apples with her bazooka," Sullivan chuckled.

"Wow, she's got a bazooka?"

"Yeah, spits electricity and stuff."

"Wow."

"Yeap. She's great, but I just wish…" Sullivan sighed and looked out the window, staring into the dark sky sadly. He didn't notice the hippo perk up and look at him from the rear view mirror.

"I just wish I could find my _real_ family, or at least someone who knows my past."

"Ah, don't worry Sl-stranger," the hippo said, pulling over. "Your family will be there to watch over you, even when you don't know it."

Sullivan smiled. For some reason, that genuinely felt nice.

"Yeah, but how do you know?" Sullivan asked. "I mean, if they're really here to watch over me, then why don't they just take me?"

"Well," the hippo said, tapping his bottom lip nervously. "Perhaps they are worried about some pyscho-something damage if you get too many answers at once? Or may be you're old life is just too dangerous to live in with your current personality?"

"Too dangerous...?" Sullivan asked, his eye brows and ears lowering in confusion.

"Um, yeah! Dangerous, like, um, bounty hunters!" the hippo blurted out.

Someone somewhere did a face palm.

"Bounty hunters?" Sullivan asked, even more confused.

"Bounty hunters!" the hippo agreed. "See, maybe you're apart of a wicked cool gang or brotherhood of, um, bounty hunters, and ypu had all these really awesome missions together stealing from-I mean, catching bad guys, and you were, like, the best of the best. But then, say, one day you guys went after the biggest, baddest, most awful bad guy of all and he wound up knocking your memories clean out of your head in the fight and you're lucky to be alive and in such a safe condition too! And um, uh, um..."

The hippo glanced back at Sullivan, who was staring at him blankly, then looked away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He took a deep breath, then raised his hands helplessly as he finished up.

"Well, point is; maybe your life was too dangerous to deal with in your current conditon and your buds are watching your back until they think you're ready. This is your stop, by the way."

The fog in Sullivan's head whisked around and started a headache; Sullivan decided not to prusue the topic.

"So, um, how much?" Sullivan asked, pulling out his wallet.

The hippo burst out laughing and shook his head, making Sullivan's tail twitch nervously. What was so funny?

"Ah, it's on the house, stranger," the hippo laughed. "Now get on outa here and back to your lady friend."

Sullivan said a thanks and good bye as he got out of the car and stood on the side walk, watching the taxi go until it turned a corner and was lost from sight. Sullivan really, really, _really_ didn't want to leave the taxi driver, but he had had to.

Who _was_ he?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"_I'm telling you, Fox, he's no where to be seen."_

"Are you sure, Rashfuner?" Carmelita whispered, frequently glancing at the door of her apartment, lest Sullivan would walk in at any moment. "I mean, it's easy to hide in this city—"

"_Chill out, Carmelita, he's no where to be found. Besides, we got agents at the bank, don't we? They'll strike if the Ladies' God comes in and starts stirring up trouble. Now, can I get some sleep? I got a steak out to do tonight and—"_

"Yeah, yeah, 'night, Kent," Carmelita said quickly, hearing foot steps approach outside. She snapped her cell phone closed and stuck it in her pocket as she heard the familiar fumbling of keys outside. She strode over to the door when she heard the keys hit the floor and opened the door. Outside, Sullivan was kneeling and picking up his keys. He looked up then grinned shyly at Carmelita.

"Eh heh, so, what's for dinner?" Sullivan asked, standing up.

"Pizza," Carmelita stated, hugging Sullivan.

"Mmmm, yummy," Sullivan approve, returning the friendly hug.

Out of his sight, Carmelita momentarily grimaced in worry. Agent Kent Rashfuner had always been an impatient man; she doubted he had looked very hard for "Dorm". But what was she to do?

They broke the hug and she whipped the worrying grimace off her face in exchange for smiling cheerfully.

"And I got some movies, too," she said.

"Cool, what type?"

"Chick flick."

"Oh, come _on_!"

Carmelita laughed as she shut shut the door behind Sullivan and thus efficiently cut off their voices to the outside listener.


	5. The Balcony

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 5: The Balcony**

_Sullivan was a little kid sitting in the only pool of light in the darkness. Scattered around him were bits and pieces of two puzzles. Half the pieces were iron grey, and the other half was blue and white. Sullivan was working on the iron grey one, being to tired to work on the blue and white puzzle._

_The last piece of the iron grey puzzle slid into pace and Sullivan found himself holding a box. He stared at the tiny thing for a minute. Then it he began to shudder, then it began to shake, then it began to grow hot enough to bake. Little Sullivan dropped the box with a cry, but it hovered in the air and opened up. From it came an enormous, dark, demon. Cold metal claws drew down Sullivan's back and pinched on his tail as he turned and tried to run. Metal talons pinned him down and little Sullivan screamed as something prickled at his back. It was almost a tickle, but it was far from enjoyable. _

_He felt something vaporous slip out of his back, being sucked up into the monster that had him pinned down, and taking everything he knew with it. Who was he? What was he? Where was mommy and daddy? Where were his friends? Help! Some one, help! It's eating me! It's eating…"_

"Me."

Sullivan's brown eyes opened up and he found himself lying flat in his bed, staring up a the ceiling. Reality had been restored. The chill in the air showed that; he needed to turn the thermostat up.

Getting out of bed, he shivered, mostly from the fear of the nightmare, as he went to the kitchen where the thermostat was. Right below it was a small table on which the phone was set. Sullivan saw the message machine flashing a green one on top and pressed the button for it to play. There was a beep from the answering machine as the heater clicked on and began blowing hot air out to him. He hoped it was Carmelita; she hadn't been at home that evening, a common occurrence in her line of work. Carmelita's voice came out of the machine.

_"Hey, Sully, it's Caramel. Just to let you know, I might not be back for a few days; I'm on the tail of his __huge__ criminal over in England, so I'll be back in a couple weeks, okay? Sorry it came on such short notice. Money's in the cookie jar, there's enough food in the fridge to last a week __if your consistent__, and what else? Oh, yeah."_

The heater clacked off suddenly.

_"The heater's acting up again."_

Ten minutes later, Sullivan was in thick winter clothing and cursing Carmelita for leaving him in a cold pit of an apartment while she took off for England. He marched around the apartment, trying to keep himself from stomping and disturbing the people below him. Not only was the cold bugging him now, but his inner desire of physical activity late at night.

Groaning in frustration in his own inner battle to just sleep or do _something_, he went into his room, determined to lay down and get some sleep. He stopped short, though, when he saw the small door leading to his balcony.

Carmelita was going to be gone for a while, so maybe he could finally get those lanterns he's always wanted? He would have to look at the balcony banister to double check how big it was to make sure that he didn't get anything too big or heavy.

He went to open the doors, pushing hard when the ice on the cracks refused to let go. He had to put his shoulder to the doors to force them open. One push, two pushes, three, and finally, the ice gave away. When the doors opened, they gave with a massive crack of broken ice and he suddenly tripped forward, almost falling clear over the balcony. He saw a glimpse of the alley beneath him and felt his stomach press into the banister as he leaned over it too much before his tail gripped at one of the doors' edges, rescuing him from certain death.

Sullivan hung there like that, his eyed wide and panting as he found himself staring down numerous floors into an alley below and the banister pressing his stomach against his spine. Eventually, the ache in his tail and his stomach reminded him that he was hanging off the edge of the building and this fact would only change if he moved himself.

Sly pushed off of the banister and backed up, panting as if he had just run the mile while his heart _ran_ a mile. He slammed the balcony doors shut and locked them. He stood there for several minutes, hands on the door handles and his forehead resting on the doors, catching his breath and closing his eyes, trying to calm himself down. The fog in his mind made him confused about what had exactly just happened. He had _wanted_ to go on the balcony, right, but why? Something about blue lights, um, uh, lanterns! Right, he wanted to go out to the balcony because… something about lanterns.

Groaning, Sullivan stepped back from the doors, a hand covering his forehead with his eyes still closed. He kept backing up until he fell down on the bed. That was how he slept that night; sprawled across the bed in full winter gear as the heater clacked on and off in sporadic patterns.


	6. Drinks?

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 6: Drinks?**

_Red veils passed in front of Sullivan's face, tickling his bare abdomen as he passed through them, grasping at his tail and shoulders eagerly, silently giggling for him to come to them. He pushed them aside and found a clearing in the endless forest of scarlet silk and veils. There was a round red bed there, piled high with pillows of silk. Carmelita was there, dressed in a beautiful red dress and leaning back on the bead, her long, shapely legs crossed and her dark blue hair falling in cascades of ebony down her back. Her tail tip twitched playfully as she smirked at Sullivan._

_"Carmelita?" Sullivan asked dumbly. "What are you doing here?"_

_Though what "here" meant exactly was beyond the confused raccoon man and, apparently, was of no matter, as Carmelita threw her head back and laughed._

_"Oh, Sully," Carmelita giggled, flopping down onto her side and tracing a pattern in the red silk sheets. "What does it look like? I'm waiting for __you__."_

_"Oh, well, ah, my," Sullivan coughed nervously. "I'm afraid I, uh, am not, ah, __prepared__ for that just yet."_

_"Oh, don't be silly. You're perfectly ready. Why, look at yourself!" Carmelita said, raising a hand at Sullivan._

_Sullivan looked down to see that he was dressed solely in a pair of grey cords; the only clothing he had had at the Hawaiian hospital. Looking at him self, Sullivan suddenly felt unworthy of the beautiful vixen; he was scrawny, his tail was thin and prone to static, and he was extremely clumsy._

_"No, Carmelita," Sullivan said sadly, stepping back into the red veils. "I'm __not__ ready."_

_Carmelita suddenly stood and moved with unbelievable speed, appearing in front of Sullivan in a blink of an eye. She tapped at Sullivan's chest, but it was enough to send him tumbling back into the red veils._

_"You're right," Carmelita said, suddenly cold. "You'll never be ready."_

_Rather then hitting the floor, Sullivan fell through more and more red veils, never reaching a floor or their end, but falling and falling, becoming entangled in them as they began to strangle him…_

Sullivan hit the floor, entangled in his sheets. His alarm clock was ringing. Plus side: He had slept up to his alarm. Negative: he was stuck in his sheets. After a long moment, his muzzle, the only part of him exposed other than his tail and legs, spoke.

"Crap," he stated.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Ah, Mr. Hooper, what happened to your coat?"

"Fell into a mud puddle getting off the bus, Todd."

"Desk."

_Thunk!_

….

"Thanks, Todd."

Sullivan limped into his office, cursing quietly under his breath as he made it to his desk. He had flopped down and was taking out papers from his suitcase before he realized that he had a guest.

"Ahem."

Sullivan looked up, the foggy space of his mind taking a moment to register that DD "Ladies' God" Dorm was already sitting in the guest chair on the other side of his desk. His ears perked up as his ragged tail puffed up in surprise.

"O-Oh, Mr. Dorm!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and knocking his suitcase off the desk. "M-My apologies! Not a very good day, you see, and, ah, oh, shoot, one moment, Mr. Dorm."

Sullivan dropped down to pick up the papers from the floor, embarrassment making his cheek fur stand on end (you can't see a blush on a furry cheek!). A scaly green hand with long fingers and well-kept emerald green nails picked up some papers and handed them to Sullivan.

_He's been taking better care of himself and not chewing his finger nails anymore._ Sullivan thought, flashing a nervous smile at the helping DD. _And how do I know that?_

"Eh hee thanks," Sullivan said, standing up. "Now, how may I help you, Mr. Dorm?"

"Uh, hey, 'coon man," DD said, sliding a hand down the back of his head and neck as he looked around. "You, uh, wanna grab a drink some time? I kinda like getting to know my money pushers that way I know whether or not they'll pinching pennies or not off the top, yeah? I mean, I wouldn't say _you'd_ do that; you too cool, but, eh, better in the gutter than on the car grille, yeah? You dig, 'coon man?"

"I think so," Sullivan said slowly, one ear dropping in confusion. "Um, you want to have a drink with me to ensure that I am a trustworthy type, is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah, man, that's what I said! So, what you say, man? You drink or no drink?"

"Um, sure, yeah, I drink," Sullivan lied. Then he corrected, "Well, not heavily. Just wine, most of the time, but, um, I can drink. I get off at seven today."

_"Great_, 'coon man, great," DD said happily. "I pick you up after you finish crunching numbers like a robot, yeah?"

"Um, sure, yeah," Sullivan agreed. "But don't I need to change--?"

"Nah, nah, your threads will pass when you're with _me_. I'll pick you up outside at seven sharp, coon man. Later, Cooper!"

As DD had talked, he had made his way to the door and was at it at the last statement.

"It's _Hooper!"_ Sullivan yelled after the lizard.

"Sure thing, 'coon man," DD called, pointing a finger cheerfully at Sullivan before exiting the office area.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sullivan ran into the revolving doors coming out of the bank and almost slipped on the icy sidewalk outside when he saw DD "Ladies' God" (he couldn't get that out of his head!) Dorm's car. It was an old emerald green Buick 8 with purple chrome bumpers and rims with a purple interior that was bright enough to almost _glow_. None the less, the car was such a loud and… _explosive_ shout of color against the white and grey winter cityscape that Sullivan almost felt a physical push from its very presence. A driver chaperone, a lavender female mouse of some sort, sat in the driver's seat with her hat pulled low over her eyes. DD was standing beside it, dressed in a lime green coat and a matching fedora with purple pockets, head band, and feather in his hat. He grinned behind round purple spectacles as he patted the roof of the Buick.

"Dig my ride, man?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Sullivan laughed as the surprise and shout of color lifting his spirits. "I dig your ride _a lot_!"

"Woo hoo!" DD cheered, punching the air and his long tail whipping about in triumph. He punched the air with both fists. "Yes! This lame-brain city has not sucked your soul out just yet!"

"Yeah, either that or the color's shocked it back to life," Sullivan chuckled.

DD looked from Sullivan to the car and back before gesturing to the car eagerly. He was just like that cool, reckless, devil-may-care, screw-the-rules kid that everyone wants to be friends with and coaxed you to hurry up so you won't miss the best part of the party. You know; the type that usually winds up in the police station for the night for drunk driving.

"Well? Come on!" he exclaimed. "Day's getting old, man!"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Sullivan said, stepping forward.

Sullivan's shoe slipped and his arms flailed about desperately with a shout, trying to regain his balance. DD jumped forward, catching Sullivan before he fell. Sullivan's hat fell over his eyes and he chuckled as DD helped him back to his feet.

"Wow," he chuckled. "Thanks! That would have—hurt!"

The reason for his last break of sentence was that DD suddenly hauled him back, practically _throwing_ him into the car before jumping in himself. The driver started the car up and instantly pulled itself away from the curve. He sat up, pushing the hat out of his eyes and looked around as the city moved past outside. A flash of white with black spots zipped by the window; had that been Kent Rashfuner? He looked at DD in confusion.

"That was a bit… rushed, Mr. Dorm," he said carefully. "Are you in some sort of legal trouble?"

DD grinned an easily cheesy and fake smile and responded, "Who, me?"

"Mr. Dorm," Sullivan growled sternly. "Is everything you bring up during your diving career exactly _legal_?"

"Of course!" Dorm exclaimed, sounding insulted.

"Just saying, Mr. Dorm," Sullivan said, shrugging. "I would hate to loose one of my clients to some careless legal actions."

"Ah, don't worry about me, 'coon man, I'm clean."

"Will you _please_ stop calling me 'coon man, Mr. Dorm? My name is Sullivan Hooper. Sully, if you insist on informalities."

"Sweet, I'll call you Sully-Man if you stop calling Mr. Dorm and start calling me DD, dig?"

"Yes, DD," Sullivan sighed. "I dig."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Behind them, Kent Rashfuner stopped and spun around with a surprised shout as the Bick drove right by him. He stared after it as Todd the squirrel man came out of the bank behind him.

"Rashfuner," Todd greeted simply, slipping into his coat.

"Todd," Kent said, pointing after the Buick. "Was… was _Hooper_ in that car?"

"I don't know, Mr. Rashfuner, I did not see the car you speak of," Todd replied, looking away as he set his hat on his head. "But tell me, Mr. Rashfuner, what is the purpose of your visit here?"

"Carmelita wanted me to check on Hooper while she was away. That and I am checking to make sure that that bank robbing gang hasn't hit this place yet."

"I assure you, Mr. Rashfuner that everything, raccoon, bank, and all, are in good shape."

"Well… you just make sure to give me a call when anything _isn't_ in good shape, or Carmelita will have my hide."


	7. The Neon Parrot

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 7: The Neon Parrot**

The _Neon Parrot,_ the name of the club DD took Sullivan to, had to be the brightest explosion of color Sullivan had seen in a long time. Scantly-clad women and men wearing such fashionably torn up clothes that they would freeze in the winter air outside danced and ground on each other, depending on the music playing. Heavy sneakers and platform boots stomped out the simple One-Two beat going on and already drunken young adults whooped randomly. At least it was still tame; no fists were flying, no drugs were being exchanged, and no obnoxious drinking games had started up yet.

It had taken DD and his driver a two hour slow drive across town to get here and now it was nine o' clock and Sullivan was feeling rather nervous. He didn't belong here, he wanted to go back home and try fixing that broken heater. He wanted to call Carmelita and make sure he was okay. Did she know how to fix the heater? Maybe he could but a portable heater and put it in his room, or carry it around the apartment. Darn, here he was sitting at an enclosed booth across from one of his more stranger clients in a long time and all he could think about were ways to keep his fish sticks from being re-frozen that night.

"Hey, babe," DD said to their cat waitress, drawing a sucker from one of his pockets. "I'd like a Chaperone on the Ice and, uh, a Cherryville 3 for my friend here."

"How did you know I like Cherryville 3 wine?" Sullivan asked, his ears perking up in surprise.

"Eh, lucky guess," DD said, shrugging. "So, tell me your song, coon—Sully; who brought the instruments, who brought the music, and who made it happen?"

"Look, can you _not_ speak slang long enough for me to understand you?" Sullivan asked, his ears tilting back nervously as he watched a group of brawny men walk by. He'd hate to meet them in a fight…

DD stared at Sullivan for a long time, the sucker dangling from between his fingers like a cigarette, then blinked and coughed harshly before popping the sucker in his mouth and speaking to Sullivan in a much more recognizable dialect. It didn't match his voice or personality, and added a touch of Mafia to him, but it greatly helped Sullivan understand him.

"So," he said. "Tell me about yourself, Sullivan. What kind of family do you have? Who raised you? What put you in the bank life?"

"I would tell you if I could," Sullivan said. "But I'm afraid that that's a story even I don't know."

It was difficult for him to try to keep his foggy mind focused on the conversation at hand in spite of all the flashing colored lights, music, and whooping young adults. Some girls walked by, their jewelry glittering in his eyes, and he suddenly had an impulse to take them. He waved a hand in front of his face, as if to wave away imaginary smoke. DD tilted his head curiously, staring at Sullivan. Sullivan knew that he might loose this client if he suddenly blurted out that he had things wrong with him, but no one except Carmelita and Kyle the sea lion hockey pal knew of his past and he just needed to _tell_ someone. If he was going to pour his heart out to someone he didn't know he would do it to DD.

"The first thing I remember is waking up in a hospital in Hawaii with a vixen cop, Inspector Carmelita Fox, watching over me. No one claimed me, no one knew me, there was no record of me, and even though I knew things like current events, history, math, and the like, I couldn't remember my own past. I couldn't remember where I learned about what I knew or how I knew who the president was or any of that common known stuff; I just _did_.

"With no records, no possessions, and no past, Carmelita took me under her wing. She got me a job as a bank accountant because I was good at numbers. She's housed and fed me, and been my best friend and guardian. I'm clumsy, nervous, have no sense of independent style and have insane sleeping patterns, waking up at all hours of the night with weird nightmares and dreams. And worst of all, I have this…" Sullivan closed both eyes tight and waved his hands around his head in frustration. "This _fog_ around me at all times, making it hard for me to think when I'm worked up or scared. It's frustrating! It's like-It's like I'm somewhere I'm not supposed to be and I have no idea how to get out!"

"Like you need to break out, but you can't escape the fog?"

Sullivan looked up at DD. DD was chewing on his sucker stick, staring at Sullivan with supreme intelligence. That intelligence said that DD knew far more than he let on, hinting to a higher, more mature and malicious side to him. Sullivan stared at DD and suddenly realized that he didn't like DD at all. Familiar feeling or not, something about DD was so off or so familiar that it scared him. What was he kidding, him, in a neighborhood like this? He wasn't ready, he wasn't skilled, he didn't know enough.

He didn't want to be around here.

"I'm leaving," Sullivan said suddenly, grabbing his coat and getting up, heading to the door.

"H-Hey! Wait!" DD exclaimed, dropping his sucker and following Sullivan.

"Leave me alone, Mr. Dorm!" Sullivan yelled at DD over the music as it entered into a huge bass beat techno song.

Turning around, Sullivan ran face-first into the wide chest of a mean-looking pug. The dog snarled a "hey" in annoyance. Sullivan's head was spinning from the music, the bass beat shaking his bones, the whooping, drunken people, the flashing lights, and _everything_. It was too bright and noisy! He wanted to be in the dark, quiet, open air! He needed out!

Ducking under the dog's arm, Sullivan ran out of the door, colliding with a blond-furred Collie as she entered. He almost fell on the icy sidewalk, but regained his feet and took off up the street, ignoring DD's ride and thus failing to notice the driver lean out the window to look after him curiously. Cold winter air bit at Sullivan as he ran, making him run faster away from the club. But what was he really afraid of? Was he afraid of DD, or the intelligence he held, or, worst yet, of the past that might be unlocked from him?

But why was he afraid of his own past?

Just as Sullivan's mind touched that question, someone pulled him into an alley and threw him to the ground, giving the question and its attached affiliates back to the fog. Looking up panting, Sullivan found himself looking up as a weasel, ferret, and two rats, all dressed in dark gangster outfits as they circled him. They were smacking pipes, baseball bats, and crow bars in their palms as they exposed sharp teeth in evil grins. Sullivan's stomach curled up and cried between his kidneys.

"W-What do you want from me?" he stammered out.

"Give us your money!" the weasel ordered.

"I-I don't have any," Sullivan replied meekly.

"Oh? Is that so?" the ferret asked. "Well, then, let's see how much you got when we beat all your teeth out!"

The ferret raised his lead pipe and Sullivan's eyes grew wide as he stared up at the weapon about to smash his skull in. But before it could strike, a blast of purple energy slammed into the ferret's back, knocking the bar from his hands and knocking him forward onto his stomach. The two rats jumped aside, looking down at their fallen comrade. Sullivan sat up as his wide brown eyes, too, fell on the tall, lanky, shadowy form of DD Dorm standing in the entrance of the alley way. One fist was raised and on it, a ring was crackling with purple energy on its ring finger.

"Who _is_ this guy?" one of the rats.

"Doesn't matter, let's get him!" the weasel snarled, pointing his nail-imbedded bat at DD.

"DD, look out!" Sullivan exclaimed, getting to his feet.

But the look on DD's face was hard and he turned his shoulders slightly as the two rats and weasel charged him. Suddenly, he let out a great punch, rocketing the green, scaly fist out from behind him and slamming it square into one rat's face. This, coupled with an explosive energy burst, send the smoking rat flying, screaming, over an astonished Sullivan's head. The other rat tried to back up when he saw what happened to his comrade, but DD's long tail whipped out, wrapping around his ankle, and pulled the rat right into another punch that bore the same consequences. The weasel, how ever, was quick enough to jump out of the way just in time and ran around DD, looking for an opening. However, he looked over at Sullivan and an idea hit him. Not all thugs are idiots.

He ran up to Sullivan, ducking around behind him as he dropped his knife only to come up behind the raccoon as he drew a switch blade from his belt and held it to the frightened and confused foggy-minded raccoon. Sullivan stiffened up with the blade so close to his grey furred neck and DD froze as well, his eyes brightening up in something like nervousness.

"Gimme your money," the weasel growled through clenched teeth. "Or the 'coon man get's it."

_Good Lord, how did I wind up in this mess?_ Sullivan thought, looking to the sky as people in trouble usually do when looking for divine help.

In the black space that was left between the two buildings on either side of them that revealed the sky, Sullivan was lucky to see the moon. It wasn't a full one, or even a half one; just a mere side-ways smile of a slice of white light in the sky. This smile, at first ,seemed sad, as if knowing that Sullivan was about to show up in the morgue soon. But then… He tilted his head as his ears twitched in attention.

Had the moon just changed a little? No, no, it was still right where it had been, in the same shape, with the same light, but _something_ about it was… different. Instead of smiling sadly, it was like it was smirking, quietly promising Sullivan and Sullivan alone that something was about to happen. Sullivan blinked, trying to get this false image out of his head, but when he opened his eyes, he saw something; someone's lost curtain pole. It was the long type tacked up on top of a window or sliding glass door and adorned with a curtain for privacy's sake. This one was severely dented in the end and a foot of it had been snapped off. But it seemed just about the perfect length.

_Perfect length for what?_ Sullivan asked himself.

Sullivan wasn't quite sure as in his mind he stumbled and was momentarily blinded by the fog. He was aware that he jumped out of the weasel's grip, reaching for the window pole… Then he found himself standing in the alley, panting heavily as the broken window pole dangled from his hands. DD was still standing in the entrance of the alley way, but now his jaw was dropped, staring in complete shock and awe at Sullivan. Sullivan looked around and saw that the weasel had been knocked out thoroughly and the other members of the thug gang had appeared to have gotten up at some time and fought him.

_W-What happened?_ Sullivan thought fearfully. _How long was I out? Did I do this? Are they okay?_

The window pole dropped out of Sullivan's heads, bouncing on the pavement with a loud clang. This seemed to break what ever spell that had been cast over him and he slumped to his knees, lowering his head as he curled up and gripped his hair in terror and frustration.

"Hey, Sully, you okay, man?" DD asked, coming forward to help Sullivan to his feet.

"No," Sullivan admitted breathlessly. "No, I'm not. I just-I just don't know who I am…" He looked down at the thugs meaningfully. "What I'm capable of." He looked back at DD. "Look, I'm sorry for running out on you like, that. It was extremely immature and unprofessional of me and—"

"Chill, dude, chill," DD chuckled, patting Sullivan on the back gently. "You been through a lot, and I appreciate the honesty. May be it's time to get you home, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, maybe," Sullivan agreed, even as he shivered in the winter night and looked up at the moon. "Hey, thanks for saving my tail end back there," he added as they went back out into the street.

"Don't mention it, Hooper-man," DD assured. "Who else is gonna keep an eye on my nest of cash for me? Tell you what," he went on when Hooper opened his mouth. "I take you home and we _never_ talk about this again. Dig?"

Hooper smiled as they went over to the waiting car and nodded.

"Yeah…" he said softly. "I dig."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kent was in a car parked on the curb across the street from Sullivan's apartment when Hooper was dropped off. Kent's eyes narrowed in distrust as the raccoon man exited the emerald green vehicle and went inside the building. He jotted down the Buick's license plate number as he thought.

_So,_ Kent thought. _He's already rebuilding those old connections, eh?_

He watched the Buick pull away, then calmly turned on his car and followed, his mind starting to move faster.

_What if… what if I got proof of that?_ He thought.

The Buick made a left turn and Kent followed.

_What if I showed Interpol, the FBI, and everyone else that you were coming back?_

The Buick appeared to have noticed him; it was speeding up. He sped up, too.

_What if I put you right where you belong?_

The Buick suddenly made a sharp right turn and Kent followed, a devilish smile crossing his face.

_Imagine! No more chasing purse snatchers, no more tracking down cheating husbands, no more endless recon missions after annoying, frustrating bank robbers. I'd be right up there with the pros, chasing down crooks like this, having real undercover missions, and going afar on foreign soil! I would be the most famous law enforcer in the history of the field for catching you! I would be famous! Promoted! And I __know__ for a fact that there are many rewards on your head, so I'd ne rich, too!_

The Buick slid out of the alley way, heading south. Kent followed and gunned his engine, speeding up to almost nudge the back of the Buick.

_That's it! That's it! That's how I'll get out of this endless cycle of questioning and handcuffing! I'm going to catch you! I'm going to catch—_

The Buick suddenly spun around, making Kent yelp as he cut off the train of thought and slam on his brakes as the old car did a complete U-turn around him. Kent's car slid to the side in a hockey stop, but something flew out the rear window of the Buick and attached itself to his car's hood. The device spat electricity and the car stalled. Kent slammed his fists in frustration on the wheel when the car wouldn't start, even as his prey moved off. But Kent wasn't _too_ frustrated; he had new prey in mind…


	8. Psychology

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 8: Psychology**

_Sullivan was at the library; a change from the regular mysterious, darkness of the other dreams. It was even a library he recognized; the New York City Public Library. Whether it was day or night, open or closed, it didn't matter. He was in his typical silvery grey business suit and black shades with his brief case in one hand. Looking around at the mute shelves of knowledge, he realized that while he was dreaming, he could control the dream; odd._

_Shrugging, Sullivan began browsing the books, looking for something to read. But none of the books caught his attention positively. He began to realize that he was looking for something specific when he dropped his suitcase and began walking quickly up and down the aisles, keeping his brown eyes fixed on the books and trying to find a particular title. As he became more frantic to find this important tome, the titles on the spines of the books blurred and jumbled together, changing into different and, somehow, more fascinating titles: Tides of Terror,(Other Sly Cooper titles)_

_But none of these titles, as fascinating as they were, was the nameless tome he sought. He didn't know what was so good about this book, or so important, but he just knew, just __knew__, that he needed this book. Was it a matter of life and death? He did not know. He needed to find the book. It would have all the answers he wanted; who he was, where he came from, what was his past: Everything._

_Skidding to a halt, he looked up and saw the gold-capped corner of a book perched high overhead on top of a shelf. He couldn't see the cover, but instincts told him that this was the book. Sullivan flung his suitcase aside and stripped off his business suit jacket and ripped off his tie, loosening the collar of the shirt beneath it. Then, giving little to no thought about safety, he leaped up, clutching a high shelf and scrambled for a foot hold, trying to scramble up the shelf and to his goal._

Sullivan woke up with a jerk, panting from the extrusion he had been doing in his dream. Groaning, he smacked his head into his pillow in the dim morning-light bedroom. He _had_ to wake up right then? And he had been so close, _so close_, to finding his past!

_This isn't working,_ Sullivan thought. _I have to get professional help __now__._

An idea hit him and he got up, going to the kitchen where a phone book was. He flipped through it until he found a number that he needed:

_**Dr. Fillip the Psychiatrist; Now on TV!**_

___Okay, not _that one. But the one below it…

**Fred B. Freelance; cheap psychiatrist (I'm just trying to make it through life like everyone else).**

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"So this DD '_Ladies God'_ Dorm might be a guy from Sully's past and I'm really scared for him," Carmelita finished up.

"Carmelita, I already went through the records and checked him out; he's clean," Kent told Carmelita over the phone, smacking on his bubblegum. "What more can I do? You want me to look up Dorm, tell him to keep away from your boyfriend and tell him _Sully's_ straight? I thought we already did this: Keep DD away, DD's disappeared, remember?"

He failed to mention that Sullivan had been out with Dorm the night before; he needed to collect more evidence, first.

Carmelita was on the phone in an empty police office area in Paris; all the other workers had long since gone home. She had had to put up with three cups of coffee and dozens of annoyingly accented, poor-English-equipped phone "helpers" before she had managed to get connected with Kent Rashfuner back in New York.

The Dalmatian man, mean while, was in full hockey gear and sitting on the bench of some hockey ring or another while his team mates continued running exercises on the ice. He smacked and chewed his gum often, amused with the situation he and Carmelita had, even as the back of his mind, he formed plans against Sullivan.

"Kent!" Carmelita exclaimed. "That lizard's still out there. You know what I mean!"

"You mean…?" Kent asked, wanting her to say what he damn well knew. He wanted to seize the chance to say what he wanted. Everyone knew how Carmelita felt about Sullivan; everyone felt almost the same way, but Kent wasn't one of those people, and he _loved_ dealing reality checks.

"I _mean_ that Dorm might be a guy from Sullivan's past!" Carmelita exclaimed, getting to her feet and walking around her desk. "What if it's one of the guys he beat up and they're going to take him out while he's weak? Or worse, what if it's one of his old team mates trying to get him to remember? You realize what kind of _hell_ that would wreck upon the law enforcement world? It's too big to just dismiss after one try!"

"Yeah, I can see the memo's head line now; World's most notorious thief released upon the world when amnesia was cured because _his girlfriend was too big of a sissy to just lock him up._"

"He would have been driven right back to where he came from if we had done that!" Carmelita argued. "Scared, lost, and confused, he would have made bad friends in jail and would have eventually learned how to get out, or _broke_ out, and we would be right back to square one. But it would be worse, and you know why? Because then he would have _no sense of honor."_

"Honor? From a thief?" Kent laughed, delivering the reality check with a flourish, "Inspector Fox! Stop living a fairy tale and face the fact that _no_ thief has honor. 'Honor among thieves' was a concept invented to fool good-hearted low-lives and trick honest people out of their funds. _No_ crook has honor."

"He did," Carmelita said softly.

Those two words were filled with a story; a story stretching like the Big Top of the enormous circus over many smaller stories, all of that which was legendary. It spoke of summer nights on city roof tops, of dark crevices filled with dust and cobwebs as it led to a secret room, and of many a night where something was spirited away, only to be replaced with a single small calling card. Those two words also softened Kent's tough-guy heart, even if it was only slightly. It reminded him that while the man they spoke of was nothing but scum to him and a possible foot step to better things, to others, he was a hero. How many towns had that man saved by taking out the crime boss ruling over them? How many lives had he saved by taking their bosses out with a no-kill policy when everyone knew that a proper team of cops would have damn well shot every one in the area to hell?

This reminder snuffed out the fire Kent had against the man. But then he remembered what he could gain by taking out the same man and the fire flickered right back to life. He would comply with Carmelita's wishes, if only to make sure she didn't get someone else on the job and hence loose Kent's chance at catching the man red-handed.

"Alright," he grunted, spitting out his gum to join the other wads crusting the floor. "So you want me to look this guy, Dorm, up, and chase him off with a stick if he's bad news, no fooling around, no stopping until it's done, right?"

"Preferably with a stick that goes _boom_," Carmelita agreed.

"Fine," Kent sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'll do it."

_But only because I want to be the one handcuffing that punk when he slips,_ Kent thought.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The office was not your typical psychologist's office, but neither was it an explosion of color or anything out of the ordinary. Actually, it was just a barren room with a wooden board floor and even some dry wall exposed on the walls. To the left, on entering the room, there was a wood window looking over the alley way. In the center was a worn out pale turquoise leather couch and beside it, a huge grey arm chair. Sitting on the arm chair, looking for all the world like a shrunken doll, was Fred B. Freelance.

Freelance was a foot-tall lemur, currently dressed in an out-of-date lime green business jacket with a white shirt under it and a handkerchief folded in the breast pocket. Freelance had told Sullivan himself over the phone that his office wouldn't even be mildly attractive; he was still trying to pay back student loans, and with his only home being a tiny apartment in the sky-high-rent of NYC, he was not decorating at the moment. Sullivan didn't care; he just needed professional help. Looking at the near-empty room, a strange thought hit Sullivan.

_This would be a great hide out._ He blinked. _Hideout, why did I say hideout? Um, maybe like a place to hang out with your friends and drink or… something… like that…_

He shook his head, trying to get the fog in his head to clear.

"Muddle headed, Mr. Hooper?" Freelance inquired.

"Always am," Hooper said, going over to sit on the couch. He stepped on the wrong board, though, and hit the floor when it tilted under his foot. Freelance flinched when Sullivan dropped, but gestured to the couch.

"Sorry about that," the silver and black lemur said.

"No, no, it's fine," Sullivan grunted, getting up and walking over to the couch carefully and sitting down. "I'm clumsy."

"So, Mr. Hooper," Freelance said. "I'm Dr. Freelance and I'll be your head shrink today. How about you tell me about your oh-so-horrible past to have you wind up here, of all places?"

"Sure," Sullivan chuckled, already liking the lemur. "Well, it all started when I woke up in a Hawaiian hospital with only a pretty vixen by the name of Inspector Carmelita Fox there to see me do it…"

He told Freelance about his foggy mind, his lack of fashion, his desire for blue lanterns, how Carmelita had taken him in, his job, his clumsiness, his dreams, and how he had started having familiar feelings with different people lately. He wanted to tell the lemur about his incident with DD Dorm outside of the _Neon Parrot_, but when DD had said "we never talk about this again", Sullivan was _serious_ about not talking to anyone about it.

By the time he had finished, Freelance had three pages in his big yellow notebook of notes about Sullivan's life as he could remember it and he actually look excited. Probably from finally getting a unique case that was not a soccer mom wanting to go wild or why a man was ruined from his dad not coming to his baseball games. Sullivan let Freelance review over the notes and stared up at the cracks in the water rotted ceiling, his mind growing distant as the fog in his mind threatened to make him blind and numb to the world…

"…to him."

"Wha? Huh?" Sullivan asked, sitting up. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"I said you should talk to him; DD Dorm," Freelance repeated. "He appears to know about your past. Next time you meet him, just pull him to the side and ask him 'do you know anything about my past?' "

"But Carmelita wanted to look in his background, first," Sullivan said meekly. "And last time I did that it didn't go… well."

"And what if Carmelita sees something that will make her stop you from speaking to Dorm and hence, perhaps loose some of your past? I doubt your past will just appear one morning; you need to _pursue it._ And, I know you might hate me for this, what if Carmelita is deliberately hiding your past?"

"What??" Sullivan exclaimed, sitting up. "Why would she do _that_?"

"Well, these dreams of criminal activity," Freelance said. "The police, the night, the fleeing, and the art museum theft dream in particular all point to the fact that you just might have been a criminal in the past. Perhaps something happened to make you forget it all and now Carmelita keeps you under her wing only to make sure you do not slip back into your old ways? On the bright side, she is most certainly doing it for a good cause; either that, or she's a good liar when it comes to looking happy."

"Could it mean anything else?" Sullivan asked, swallowing heavily.

"Well, dreams _do_ have a way of twisting the truth; perhaps you were doing something that felt criminal? For all we know, you could have been some hick raised in a cornfield somewhere with a religiously fanatic mother and wound up loosing your memory after getting a hit on the head while exploring the world all on your lonesome! Or, to put it simply, you could have lived a suppressive life that when you finally broke out of, something happened to loose your memory and now all your freedom is making your subconscious think that you're doing something bad. But we have no way of knowing that, do we?" Freelance glanced at his watch and went on, "Oh, curses, it looks like our session time is up. Will I be expecting you again, Mr. Hooper, or shall I send you a bill?"

"Can you squeeze me in some time soon? Like, with in a week?" Sullivan asked.

"I can fit you in for three o' clock, Thursday."

_I'm working then,_ was what Sullivan thought. What popped out was, "That'll be perfect."


	9. Mind Games

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 9: Mind Games**

_Sullivan was in a tunnel system in a cave made of pure gems; diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, rubies, topazes, amethysts, and other such precious compounds. The walls were polished enough to slide around in, which he did, laughing happily as he slid up and down the curving tunnels. He reached a chamber in the caves of gems and saw a small crowd there. He couldn't see their faces in the dimness, but he knew that they were smiling and were waving at him. Happiness filled his heart; the kind of happiness only felt when one finds their old, true friends, and he laughed, sliding down the curved cavern to meet them. But before he could come among them he _woke up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Morning, Todd."

"Morning, Hooper; desk."

_Thump!_

"...We have _really_got to move this thing someday."

"I wouldn't recommend it, sir; that's my desk."

"See you later, Todd."

He got his work done quickly and found himself leaning back in his seat, flipping a pen around in his fingers with his feet propped up on the desk. A cuckoo bird woman name Lacy, a co-worker of Sullivan's, watched at Sullivan easily flicked the pen up and down from between his fingers, catching it, spinning it around, and even balancing it on the tip of his muzzle.

"You're getting better," she suddenly said.

Sullivan caught the pen and looked at her oddly.

"You're getting better," Lacy repeated. "You're not as clumsy."

Sullivan looked at her, then his pen, then tossed it high up in the air, flipping it over frequently. The pen came back down to him and he caught it easily. Sullivan examined the pen, as if looking for magic trickery, then grinned.

"Yeah," he said, "I guess you're right."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Another bank robbery,_ Kent read from the newspaper he held. _Forth this month, same guys, same deal: Swarm in, take all the money, leave like a ghost. Cops, as usual, are too slow from their doughnuts to do jack._

He looked up at the heavy overcast winter sky from where he stood on the corner and looked around the empty street. Everyone was inside, enjoying the warmth, and here he was, bundled up and waiting for someone. Behind him, a wheelchair-bound turtle hobo (probably a reject army veteran, Kent had thought) and koala hobo (looks like an immigrant who didn't get on his feet, Kent had noted), shuffled through the trash behind him, seemingly ignorant of his presence. He couldn't help but smile in amusement as the koala picked up a box and promptly dropped it over him, making an adequate shelter. He turned his gaze back to the empty winter afternoon street and his thoughts back to the robberies.

_Now, if they would just let us feds on the case, we'd be there in a snap and stop those no-good crooks in their tracks. But __no__, they all want to do it themselves! Ha! Keep it up like this and this city will be bone dry in the way of money in the banks!_

_Now where the hell is…? Ah, __there__ he is._

A taxi pulled up to the corner and Kent got in. Inside, the large pink hippo driver began driving before Kent had even suggested a location.

"So," Kent said to the hippo. "What's the dirt on this Dorm guy?"

"Who?" the hippo asked, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

"There is an iguana man called DD 'Ladies' God' Dorm," Kent sighed, impatient with the hippo already. "He's been hanging around one Sullivan Hooper and I've been ordered to check the Dorm guy out. What do you know about him, because he looks clean on his records."

"Sorry, I don't know anything about him," the hippo replied.

"Are you sure?" Kent asked sternly. "You're the informant, and this guy looks pretty well off for a _frog man_."

"Wait, I thought you said that he's an iguana?"

"He is, and he's a frog man."

"How does _that_ work out? Iguanas are reptiles, frogs are amphibians."

"No, he's—"

"Does he have the tail of an iguana and the webs of a frog?"

"No—"

"Or does he look like an iguana, but has the skin of a frog?"

"Actually—"

"No, no that would make him a salamander…"

_"He's an iguana who dives for stuff!"_ Kent yelled.

A moment of silence.

"So where does the frog man thing come in?" the hippo asked.

"Oh my god," Kent groaned, smacking a hand to his face. "Look: DD Dorm is an iguana who dives for stuff and seems too well off for a man in that profession, just know that bit. Forget the frog man thing. Dorm has been hanging around a raccoon man accountant by the name of Sullivan Hooper, and I have reason to suspect that Dorm's intentions with Sullivan are not pure."

"You mean he's--?"

_"NO!!!"_ Kent screamed. He reeled himself back in, taking some deep breaths to calm himself down.

_Easy, Kent, easy,_ he thought. _Okay, so Dorm's covered himself too well to be on the radar. Let's turn this to more important business…_

"Then what do you know about Sullivan Hooper?" he asked.

The hippo slammed on his brakes and Kent jerked forward, knocking his head against the back of the driver's seat. He sat back, growling and rubbing his head.

"Look, mister," the hippo said, looking at Kent in the rear view mirror. "I don't know what kind of weird ring you're trying to start up, but I don't know anything about this frog-iguana-mix man, Dorm, and as for the accountant, I'm not in that deep with stuff like that."

"Look," Kent hissed. "Just find out who DD 'Ladies' God' Dorm is, what he wants with Sullivan, and what kind of underhanded things Sullivan is up to, too, and report back to me, alright? You'll be paid well. It's for a lady friend of mine."

"Can't do it yourself, fed?" the hippo asked.

"Like I said; I checked and Dorm's clean on paper. Plus, Sullivan happens to be the lady friends' gem of her heart," He gagged on that last bit with the idea of the gorgeous vixen and clumsy raccoon being a couple. "Find out what's not on paper for them both."

With that final, somewhat dramatic statement, Kent got out of the taxi and left. He had no idea that he had climbed into the completely wrong "informant's" taxi.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The hockey game they had that day actually had an audience, and a large one at that. Apparently, the other team Sullivan's team was facing had a lot of fans, which encouraged the fans (even false ones) of Sullivan's own team to come out to a game, for once. Hence, when the starting buzzer rang out, the stands were actually populated by troops of cheering fans. The cheering encouraged more adrenalin to flow and for attitudes to flare, thus causing a fist fight with in the first ten minutes of the game, much to the fans' delight. Sullivan felt a shiver run up his spine when he saw a wombat on his team be carried off the rink on a stretcher. The runty grizzly bear coach turned to him and suddenly spoke.

"Alright, two of our guys are out, so Sullivan, Kyle, you're in."

"Woo hoo!" the sea lion whooped, zipping out onto the ice eagerly.

"Oh boy," Sullivan whimpered, following his more enthusiastic friend.

His skates pointed outwards and he practically did the splits, but he managed to push up with his hockey stick and keep himself from hitting the ice. Looking at his opponents, he realized why the other team had more fans: These guys were big, powerful, and _mean_ looking. It was clear that before the game was over, _someone's_ skull would be splattered on the ice.

"Oh dear god," Sullivan whimpered, ears and tails drooping.

The starting buzzer shouted and Kyle swatted the puck, knocking it to Sullivan.

"Run with it, Sully!" he shouted.

Sullivan managed to catch the puck, then looked up to see a herd of muscle-bound men on blade-mounted shoes(ice skates) coming at him. Yelping, Sullivan kicked off, ducking below arms and jumping over hockey sticks. A warthog appeared in front of him and he turned from him, only to find himself surrounded. The other team mates were busy trying to keep a majority of the other team off of him or defending the goalie.

"Hey! Fatso, over here!" Kyle yelled, trying to distract the enemy players from Sullivan.

One pig turned around to look at Kyle and some inner instinct seized Sullivan. Darting forward, he hooked the pig's belt on his hockey stick and pulled upward, flinging him in the air. At the peak of the toss, Sullivan withdrew the stick and adjusted it to pull _down_, pulling the pig down faster than gravity to slam into the ice, dazed. As the enemy team mates, as well as practically everyone else in the arena, "oohed" in sympathy, thus providing the distraction Sullivan needed.

Turning to the enemy's goal, he swatted the puck, sending it streaking like a black lightening bolt across the ice to slam into the net for a legit point.

"Hey!" a horse on the opposing team yelled. "I call that a foul!"

Sullivan didn't know if it was from knocking the pig down, or the adrenalin, or the goal, but he felt cocky enough to start skating around the horse.

"What was that, 'hay'?" Sullivan asked, drawing the snickers of some other people. "Now's not the time to eat, my friend."

"Why you--!" the horse began.

"Shut up and we'll take this out in the game!" Sullivan whooped, stopping suddenly and sending some ice shavings showering onto the horse's leg.

The horse looked down at his ice shaving-covered leg, then looked up and narrowed his eyes at Sullivan.

"Fine," he hissed.

Thus the game passed. Sliding under arms, jumping over legs, jumping and spinning around lunges, whacking people with his stick, and even doing a hand-stand when he scored a couple more goals, Sullivan grew more and more confident. He didn't slip or fall, he didn't fumble or miss the puck, and he didn't feel like screaming like a little girl when the opposing team charged him. When he didn't have the puck, he managed to tick the opposing team off in all sort of clever ways, mostly sly jokes about their intelligence, appearance, and mothers, but sometimes in more subtle ways…

Like dropping a coyote's pants.

After _that_ last bit, everyone in the arena had laughed as Sullivan had been kicked off of the ring by the referee, but he had slid back to the bench, grinning like a fool. The fog in his mind was mostly gone and he felt _great_!

They wound up winning the game and congratulations were shared all around at the bar they went to in celebration afterwards. Sullivan had to frequently readjust his shades as everyone kept clapping him on the back.

"Here's to Sully!" Kyle whooped, leaning heavily against Sullivan with a tall beer in one flipper while the other grasped the raccoon's shoulder. "For growing a pair!"

Everyone crowed in a good manner and Kyle glugged down his drink. Sullivan laughed and raised his glass.

"To hockey!" he cheered. "The only good sport where you get to kick the crap out of your opponent!"

_Everyone_ in the bar cheered at this and Sullivan jumped up onto his stool and held his drink out over the crowd.

"Drinks are on me!" he yelled.

After the cheering came the drinking games, things dissolved into the off-tune drinking songs, and eventually crumbled into confessing deep things to one another. By the time the bar closed late that night, the handful of people left were off their tail ends drunk, with Sullivan included. Laughing, Sullivan waved his team mates good bye before stumbling in the direction of home. Strangely enough, though, he sobered up incredibly fast and was able to take his keys out of his pocket with not too much fumbling by the time he got to the building. But what ever steadiness had possessed him in the day was gone and his keys slipped from between his fingers to hit the slush on the steps outside the building. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he knelt and began to paw at the slush in search of the keys.

"Not just gonna picklock it?"

Looking up, Sullivan saw Kent Rashfuner leaning against the wall beside the apartment doors, arms and ankles crossed.

"Oh, hey, Kent," Sullivan said, grinning in a friendly manner. "Nah, roof top access would be more classy."

Kent looked at Sullivan with his eye brows and ears raised. Laughing, Sullivan shook his head as he finally found his keys.

"Oh, relax, Kent, I was just kidding! Honestly, Carmelita told me that you were a fed, but ease up, will you?" He stood up and began to examine the keys in the light spilling out of the apartment building, looking for the proper one. "So, what brings you here?"

"Carmelita wanted me to check up on you."

"Aww, isn't that sweet? Um, you want to go upstairs and grab some coffee? It'll be warmer," Sullivan suggested, finally unlocking the door and holding it open.

"Sure, Mr. Hooper, that sounds nice," Kent said coolly, following the raccoon into the building.

"So, how's the tricks?" Sullivan asked, starting the long hike up the apartment building's stairs.

"The tricks are good. Hey, I watched the hockey game. Where'd you learn all that?"

"Good question; it just kind of happened. Do you think I was a hockey player in my old life, too? The one I can't remember? That would explain why I like the sport so much."

"Maybe it's just because you get to whack people you don't like with a big stick."

"Yeah, we would all like a sport like that!" Sullivan laughed.

"Yes," Kent said, clearly less enthusiastic. "So, how's work been?"

"Oh, the usual; crunch numbers, make sure no one's laundering, stuff like that."

"Just curious, is it possible for you to transfer money from their account to yours?"

"Probably, but why would I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know; more spending money, perhaps? Or you could just get a kick out of screwing someone else over? I know that it would be a great temptation for _me_ to pickpocket such an exposed source of wealth."

"Mr. Rashfuner," Sullivan asked curiously, stopping out side of his apartment and flicking through the keys. "Are you concerning going rouge and becoming a criminal?"

"I don't know, are _you_?" Kent growled.

"Hey, _you're_ the one wanting to skim numbers off the top!" Sullivan objected. "I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is!"

"Are you, Sullivan?" Kent asked. "Are you happy knowing only _half_ of your life while the first half is shrouded in mystery from the curse of amnesia? Are you happy suffering a permanent fog and being clumsy? Are you happy having to live with a woman you hardly know and being dependent on her? Are you _really_ happy, Sullivan Hooper, knowing that your name is only one given to you at random because you can't remember your real one? Are you _really_ happy, Sullivan?"

Sullivan stared at Kent, key in the lock of his door and clearly stunned by this sudden flow of cold, sarcastic reasoning. Finally, Kent tipped his hat to Sullivan and turned away.

"Good night, _Sully."_

Thus speaking, Kent left. Slowly, Sullivan looked back at the door, unlocking it, and entering the apartment with in. He shut the door, staring into space, and leaned his back against it. Closing his eyes, he sighed and shook his head, his ears drooping sadly.

"I _was_ happy, Kent," he whispered to the empty, cool apartment. "But now that you mention it, no. I'm not happy. I'm miserable."


	10. Shadows

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 10: Shadows**

_Tonight it was a nightmare. He was pinned on his stomach to the floor in the darkness with sharp claws digging into his back as the claw's owners screeched loud enough to make him scream in panic. The claws kept knitting at his back, digging and clawing at him as he writhed to get away, howling for mercy, for help. Suddenly, he slipped from the claws and leaped forward, seizing something long, narrow, and hard in his grip. Turning around, he struck with the object before he even saw his attacker and there was a definite crash as his weapon struck his attacker._

Sullivan over balanced and fell hard on his back end, waking him self up. The broom he had been holding clattered to the floor to lie among the shattered remains of the lamp he had hit. He stared, his jaw dropping open at the living room lamp he had broken in his sleep.

How bad were his nightmares going to get?

What was he going to do?

Would his life ever be normal?

"_Are you happy?"_ Kent.

"_No, no, this guy seemed too friendly to be with the mob, not as cocky. Besides, the mob never wears flashy turquoise suits or pimp hats."_

_Any team mates who ever heard him turned to stare at him._

"_How do you know that?" Kyle asked._

_Yeah, how do you know that, Sully? _ When they had been talking about Dorm at hockey.

"_Ah, don't worry S-stranger. Your family will be there to watch over you, even when you don't know it."_ The taxi driver.

But of the memories rearing at Sullivan now, it was that of Dr. Freelance and what he had said about Carmelita looking in Dorm's past:

"_And what if she sees something that will make her stop you from speaking to Dorm and hence, perhaps loose some of your past? I doubt your past will just appear one morning; you need to pursue it. And, I know you might hate me for this, what if Carmelita is deliberately hiding your past?"_

Need to pursue it…

Carmelita hiding his past…

Closing his eyes, Sullivan shook his head, as if that would clear his head. Opening them again, he stood up and went to his room. He found his cell phone on the dresser and picked it up.

_I'm going to call her,_ he thought, flicking the phone open. _I'm going to call her and ask her my--_

Suddenly, fatigue took him and he groaned as he swayed on his feet and dropped his phone. He sank to his knees by the bed and clutching his foggy head as it began to throb. Something was there, tapping at the surface, whining to be let out, telling him that all the signs were there, he just needed to put them together in the correct way. But the fog in his mind was darting in front of his vision, blinding him to the signs and making his head ache worse and worse until he could barely stand it.

_Hospital…___ Sullivan thought, forcing one hand down to feel for his phone. _I need the hospital…_

But the fog seemed to sense this and rushed to fill his entire head, making him collapse onto his side and leave the waking world. Even as he disappeared from the world, something pushed through the fog, pulling him into the darkness and into another dream land…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_The buildings of the city were black against the navy blue sky. Normally, lights from the people staying up late, headlights of cars, and street lamps would light the city up, but tonight, after a long day of chaos after a strange city-wide power outage, everyone slept in darkness. For the first time ever since the city had started having electricity, people slept with out hearing honking horns, the click of changing street lights, or the screams of fire engines plowing back and forth across the city. Some found the silence nerve-racking. Others found it peaceful. All slept. Except…_

_Suddenly, the obnoxious racket of shattering glass exploded in the midnight silence. Even as the window shattered, a lithe, shadowy figure shot out of the building's darkness and through the shower of glass to the neighboring building's roof. The figure landed in a roll, returning to their feet immediately before bolting across the roof tops like a speeding rodent from a cat. As the figure ran, their feet made only light pattering noises on the roof, making it seem like rain was passing by. Their body moved like liquid shadow, never stumbling, never hesitating, and never jerky; always smooth, calm, directed, and confident. A single pair of large eyes glowed yellow in the darkness. A large cane was clutched in one hand while the other held a large sack over their shoulder like some queer, unusual Santa Clause who was taking gifts instead of giving them._

_As if the initial shattering glass wasn't annoying and unusual enough to disturb the carefully crafted night time peace, screaming burglar alarms rose into the air as helicopters came over the block, summoned by their ground-bound cop cruiser counterparts that kept pace with the fleeing roof top figure on the streets below. Red and blue flashing lights over silver head lights lit up the ground below like a simple night club light show while the helicopters above cast down golden search lights, as if attempting to beam up their prey into their UFO. The shadowy figure easily darted around the helicopters' search lights without a single stumble. Their glowing golden yellow eyes did not even twitch in recognition of concentration or effort._

_Suddenly, the buildings ended, dropping off on the edge of a river that ran through the city. The building stopped right on the edge of the river and the brick was already half way covered in creeping, space-greedy moss from the eternally lapping water. The figure stopped, one foot on the small wall barricading the roof from the open air with their shoulders hanging loose easily. They stared down at the water expressionlessly, as if debating something, then looked back up at the frantically circling helicopters and the city as it woke up; lights were turning on, their power restored, as people awoke to the sounds of the city's justice up-holding force's voice. Cop cars were slamming to a halt on the street below as their drivers realized that the figure had no where else to run. Booted feet thundered up the steps as man forces raced up the building's fire escape to capture their prey._

_In spite of the enclosing foes, the figure calmly turned their gaze back to themselves, skillfully cradling their cane with in the nook of their elbow as they used their hand to rummage around with in their shirt. The hand withdrew from the shirt and held an object high in the air that twinkled upon the passing spot lights' touch; it was a gesture of triumph and mock. It was a gesture boldly declaring that, in spite of all these peoples' forces, this person would __always__ win._

_With this gesture completed, the person flung the object onto of the roof with enough force to make it stick into it like a blade with in a defeated foe's body. Turning, they launched themselves with no running start over the edge of the building and into the water below. None saw the figure make this amazingly suicidal feat, as their shadowy form seemed to simply melt and become one with the dark water below._

_Meanwhile, on the roof, the justice keepers bound onto the roof a full minute and a half too late. They searched the roof, looking everywhere but down. Finally, they saw something glitter on the ground and inspected it._

_It was a dark blue and white badge in the shape of a raccoon's head._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sullivan's eyes snapped open. It was night time and he was lying on his back on the floor of his bed room. The heat was up to stifling degrees; he needed to turn it down. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed his stiff body. What a strange dream, and so realistic…

"**Sweet times, eh?"**

Gasping, Sullivan scrambled to his feet and turned towards the voice, but he tripped on his own tail and fell back hard on his back end. The voice laughed and spoke again.

"**Wow, you sure have come a long way, haven't you, Sully?"**

The voice sounded so familiar, and had a sort of odd texture to it, like it was coming from everywhere, but emitting from a definite point. It was male, young, cocky, and the voice of someone as ready to charm the people chasing them as well as insult their mothers. Sitting up, Sullivan gasped to see the same shadowy figure from his dream crouching on the chair that he sat on to put his shoes on in the morning, sitting beside the full-length mirror. There was no sack with the all-black figure this time, and one could not even discern limb from limb in the black silhouette of the person, but they were most certainly a raccoon of some sort with a long cane in one hand. Sullivan scrambled away from the all-black anomaly, his heart racing in his chest.

"W-Who are you?" he asked shakily, "W-What are you?"

"**Ah, don't be like that, Sully,"** the shadow said. It reached out with its cane, hooking it around Sullivan's neck and pulling him back towards the person. **"We are, after all, the same person."**

"W-w-w-w-what?" Sullivan whimpered.

"**Well, actually,"** the shadow said, placing a hand on its chest. _**"I'm**_** just a figment of your imagination; a creature that your poor, poor broken mind has created temporarily to help with its problems."**

"Problems?" Sullivan asked, removing the dark, cool cane from his neck.

"**Yeap,"** the shadow said, nodding. **"Problems, for you see; I represent all that you fear about your past. You're afraid that you were the stereotypical 'bad guy' in your past, or at the very least, you're frightened at how little you know of your past and yet, how it could affect your life so much. After all,"** Sullivan jerked as he had a flash back to the alley way incident outside of the _Neon Parrot._ **"You don't learn moves like that from being an **_**accountant**_**! Oh, can't you see, Sully?"**

The shadow leaned down and gently gripped Sullivan's chin in a gloved hand.

"**There's nothing to be afraid of! **_**I**_** do not exist, being an imaginary **_**nightmare,**_** and **_**you**_** are a gentleman who is simply somewhat clumsy and slow on some days. Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"**

"So this,"Sullivan said, pulling the hand off of his chin and holding it up. "Is just… a nightmare?"

"**Correct,"** the shadow agreed, nodding.

"Oh, thank god," Sullivan gasped, dropping the hand, sitting back, and rubbing his head. "I thought I was going crazy for a minute there."

"**Technically, you're already crazy,"** the mischievous shadow pointed out. **"But I digress. Look, I know how you're always so flabbergasted at everything and just want to find your past, and dawn will be knocking soon, banishing my kind to the nether realms once more, so here's some advice for you, my skimpy-tailed friend."**

The shadow pointed its cane to the balcony doors. Looking over his shoulder at them,Sullivan looked through the windows and was astonished to see blue glittering lights dancing on the edge of the balcony.

"**Cold air tends to clear the mind up **_**very**_** well,"** the shadow finished. Jumping to his feet, he strutted towards the balcony. **"Well, nice talking to you, Sully, have a nice life and—"**

"Wait,"Sullivan said, gripping the shadow's tail boldly and making it turn back to him. "What do you mean by 'my kind' and being banished?"

Here, the shadow seemed to smile as it stretched its arms in show.

"**Why, we children of the night, my friend!"** it cackled. **"The thieves, the scoundrels, the boogey men, the tricksters, the dark traits of peoples' personalities that come out only when bade to by the dark privacy of night. For we night folk can not walk under the sun's rays, but only with in the night's embrace…"**

And with that statement, the shadow suddenly burst apart, filling the room and blinding Sullivan. He shut his eyes tight, yelping in fear as he curled up into a ball.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The clatter of the heater turning on again made Sullivan open his eyes. It was day time and he was still curled up on the floor. No blue twinkles colored the balcony railing, no creepy shadow thing was in his room, and no nightmares were to be seen. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was going on ten; he was three hours late for work. Still staring at the clock, as if in a daze, the fog slowly circled his mind, threatening punishment for the previous nights' imagined adventures. Gripping his cell phone, he dialed work.

"Hello, sir?" he said to his boss when the call went through. "It's Sullivan. I'm sorry for calling so late, but I'm afraid that I'll have to take the next day or two off…"


	11. Clear Skies

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 11: Clear Skies**

The night after the strange series of nightmares and dreams and talking to the shadow creature, Sullivan stood on the small balcony of his room. He had wandered around with the fog in his head thicker than usual. He had gotten dressed sometime that day and next thing he knew, he had bought an entire new winter outfit: High boots, gloves, scarf, jacket, under armor, thick pants, and a wool cap, all of which were black. He had no idea why he got them or how he had even gotten to the out door store, but he had wandered back to the apartment and napped, sleeping a dreamless sleep for the first time in a long time. For some reason, though, he had had an odd image in his head in which the shadow raccoon man from the previous night had been watching over him even as numerous people, from a turtle and koala hobo to a hippo taxi driver, had protected the building in which he was sleeping. Now he stood on the balcony, staring at the next door building.

The winter wind brushed past him, wriggling its fingers through his fur to fondle his tail. It pressed against his dark clothing, mutely begging to be let into his warm body. Below him, the dark street was crossed by a late night partier or patrolled by a lonely car once in a great while. A few small flakes of snow sank to the earth now and then, but Sullivan was too busy staring at the neighboring building to notice.

The roof next door was low… and who was going to stop him?

Dare he….or dare he not?

A cold wind rushed past him, taking up a nonexistent invitation into the "warmer" apartment, behind him, but Sullivan hardly noticed. The heater wasn't working, so he left the balcony doors open, not really caring if it was as cold inside as it was outside. For some reason, facing the cold outside was better than inside…

Sly stood for several minutes with his hands on the door frame and staring out over the city-light NYC. Part of him wanted to go back in side and lie down, but something kept him here in the open cold.

_What's happening?_ He thought. _Why can't I move? Am I __really__ thinking what I think I'm thinking? Am I __nuts__? Am I going to just go loco without Carmelita to hold my hand? Come on, Sullivan, don't do this, man, don't—_

**_"Cold air tends to clear up the mind very well..."_**

_But that was just a dream--!_

Sullivan's feet moved on their own, drawing him to the waist-high banister of the balcony. Sullivan hopped up onto it and, after a moment, stood up, tall, and straight. The scarf he had wrapped around his neck fluttered in the wind, as did the fake fur trimming of his coat. His skimpy tail carefully wagged back and forth, keeping his balance. But was it wagging with emotion, too, something like fear, or even anticipation? Part of him wanted to be a good boy and babbled incoherently about how this was wrong, dangerous, and stupid. Another part just wanted to be him and was patiently waiting for him to let go of what ever was holding him back.

_Oh, okay, so you're going to do it. Okay, so you're doing it. God, what is __wrong__ with me?_

But Sullivan knew what was wrong with him. For the first time in memory, he was not being escorted by a higher authority. He was completely on his own and free and his inner self, that part of him from his past, was starting to wake up. Without something like the security blanket of Carmelita, or the arresting presence of reputation in the work place, or social taboos in the hockey ring to holdhim back, Sullivan was truly on his own. Though what kind of _nut job_ he would have to be to go _roof jumping_ was beyond Sullivan.

_Well, let's find out. _Sullivan thought in a strange change of heart.

He hesitated as if time slowed, reviewing what he wanted to do one last time. Yeap, he was gonna do it. Crazy? Yes. Well… win some loose some.

Then he jumped.

He lowered himself on his knees, than sprang from the balcony, easily flying through the air to land in a roll on the other roof. As he came to his feet, he slid on the ice, but scrambled to his feet. After that, the night took his hand and he sped along, leaping from roof to roof, flipping and spinning in the air. The fog was gone from his mind as the cold wind and the running of the roof tops cleared it, chasing it back to whence it came. For the first time in a long time, Sullivan felt like he was where he_ belonged_. Something was still missing, but this was a definite thing to keep. He didn't think, he didn't wonder, he didn't reason. He didn't answer why he was doing this, where he was going, what was he doing, or when he would stop; this was one of those times in life where it was best to just _be_ and completely forget society and its rules. It was the perfect time to just… _be._

Whooping, Sullivan sprang forward, going high into the air before landing hard on another roof and sprinting off like a rocket. He cautioned himself to be a little quieter, lest anyone call the men in white for his odd behavior, like all people do with they who seem "different" and "need help". Chuckling quietly in an effort to hold back bales of joyful laughter, he jumped up and spun around, landing on an icy cable and easily sliding down it to the opposite side to the next building. Behind him, blue twinkle lights glowed into existence momentarily before fading out again. Once on the other roof, he jumped and did a flip, landing on top of a cooling unit, currently frozen in place by snow and ice. Laughing, he stood up and spun around before darting forward to the edge of the roof. Beside this particular building was a church.

Leaping forward, he landed on one tower spike topping a rampart of the church. He balanced on one toe carefully, arms and tail waving to keep the balance. For a moment, the fog came back and he gasped in awe at this feat of balance at such a dizzying height. Where had he learned to do _this_?? Thus distracted, he almost lost his balance and plummeted to the ground. But a cold wind knocked him back on balance and stole the fog, making him laugh and jump up and spin around, landing on an electric cable crossing over the church. Running up the cable, he leaped onto the main bell tower and landed on the railing lining the roof of the tower. Bouncing up the steep cone-shaped tower top, he gripped the tall lightening pole topping the highest structure of the church.

He hung there, feet braced against the roof while one hand gripped the icy lightening pole, staring down over the city as the tower began to shake and the church's bell rang, calling out midnight. Below him, the city came closest as it could to sleep. A majority of the buildings were dark, and while traffic still rumbled and sirens called out, it was largely quiet from up here. In the distance he could see the silhouettes of the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building. The dark buildings were spotted with the yellow lights of still-awake apartments and outlined with the navy blue light being lit up from the city streets below and the moon overhead. Looking up, he saw the clouds break and reveal a full moon, floating like a lonely angel in the starless sky as it watched over the city. As the bell tower struck the twelve hours of midnight, Sullivan smiled up at the moon. When he spoke, it was not with the nervous, quiet squeak of himself, but the confident, smiling chuckle of another man.

"Hello, old friend," he said softly.

Behind him, a certain spotted figure raised his camera and began taking pictures.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He did not have his memories yet, but he had his old personality, for now.

The weeks passed. By day, Sullivan was still a regular raccoon accountant. Some times Yang came in during lunch time and everyone watched in amazement as Sullivan was the only one brave enough to handle the giant panda. Other times, DD 'Ladies God' Dorm would come in with all the flare of a celebrity and the displacement of a truck at a dog show and Sullivan and he would talk long and easily with each other. Sullivan even brought Dorm back to his apartment a couple times to enjoy a drink. He never spoke with the lizard about his past, suddenly feeling confident about the success in his own quest for knowledge.

But by night, after Carmelita came home, Sullivan waited until Carmelita went to sleep before sneaking out for a midnight run along the roof tops. His mind was clearest here, being so close to remembering his past and yet, so far away. He never told Carmelita of his night time escapades. It wasn't a matter of trust, but mischief. It was just more fun to have a secret that no one else knew of. He told Freelance about everything, though, wanting to help the poor psychiatrist out by paying him for more sessions. Many a day would he lie on the lemur's beaten down couch and tell him about his night escapades and talk animatedly about incidents in hockey and his job, making the lemur stare with a dropped jaw on more than one occasion. Something about that shocked look made Sullivan laugh and schedule another appointment every time.

His life started changing. He started getting a taste for his own fashion going, even picking out some whacky out fits just to play a prank or two on Carmelita. The fog around his mind began to lift, little by little, becoming thinner and thinner. He became less clumsy (even stopped running into that desk in the beginning of work!), and more witty and he smiled more at work. He still had the nightmares, but they came less. He noticed a cute lavender mouse girl frequently visited his teams' practice sessions and teams when few others bothered, and she also worked on the icing equipment. His tail thickened out and became handsomely bushy. He became more fit from his night time runs. He and Carmelita laughed more and had more fun. His hockey team won even more games from his antics and there was more than one night where he and his team got drunk.

Life was going well for Sullivan Hooper.

Until the first day of spring…


	12. The Robbery

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 12: The Robbery**

_Sullivan was in the red veil place again. Again the veils clung to him like silent women begging him to come back to bed. He pushed through the veils and there, again, was a bed. But rather than round and made of red silk, it was in the shape of a blue and white masked raccoon head. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Carmelita in full crime-fighting gear; not in a low-cut dress. She was looking over her bazooka, then looked up and looked Sullivan up and down with none of the playful seduction she had had before._

_"Well," she said impatiently. "Are you ready now?"_

_Sullivan looked down at himself. He was wearing blue boots and a blue tunic with a yellow collar to match the blue, yellow-cuffed gloves he had and the blue cap on his head. He had a red leg pouch on his left leg and a red back pack on his back. A yellow belt across his waist bore the same insignia in the shape of the bed. His entire physic had improved; his fur was thicker, more lush, and had a beautiful sheen to it. His tail was of hard-made volume and swayed confidently in the air behind him. Rather than sunglasses protecting his eyes, a black mask was wrapped around them, with longer lengths of cord dangling behind his head. It was such a strange get up, and yet it fit perfectly, with something missing._

_He looked up at Carmelita as new confidence filled him and warmed him from the inside out, making his tail stand higher as he stood straighter. A clever grin crossed his face as he came over to Carmelita and pulled her to his feet, pulling him close._

_"Yes," he said, lowering his face to hers. "I am ready."_

_As Sullivan's and Carmelita's lips met, the world burst apart and disappeared around them. Gone were the disguising, suffocating veils and the pointless, heartless bed of so little value. They were over a city; Paris? London? New York City? What did it matter? They fell down to these roofs before parting and taking off running with Sullivan leading and Carmelita following. They laughed and giggled like school children as they ran along the roof tops, leaping over building gaps, sliding down cables, bouncing off of TV antennae, and playing a game of tag on the sleeping city's roof tops. The stars twinkled over head, silently cheering on their race, and an enormous full moon that covered much of the sky glowed over head, encasing them in its soft light and making them its children of the night. For the night claims its own, and what good would it do to ignore one of its most blessed, talented children even while he played?_

Sullivan woke up early, as usual, and yawned and stretched happily. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that it was empty after the previous night's exercises. He patted it, then looked at the ceiling, humming in thought as an idea came to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Carmelita awoke to smell bacon and got out of bed to find Sullivan already up and in the kitchen, making breakfast.

"You can cook?" she yawned.

"Yeap, I learned!" Sullivan said, flashing a smile at her. "Aw, darn, I was hoping to be the Prince Charming to revive the Sleeping Beauty!"

Carmelita couldn't hold back a giggle of embarrassed flattery. Sullivan set a couple of plates of beacon and eggs on the table and they both sat to eat.

"So," Sullivan began. "The subject of renovating the bank was brought up in work yesterday."

"Oh?" Carmelita asked. "Are they going through with it?"

"Well, after I pointed out how it'd be cheaper to buy off every crooked politician in Washington, I think they got the idea that we don't need it…"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Carmelita was humming to herself as she washed the plates after breakfast a little while after Sullivan had left for work. He was so happy now these days! He was hardly clumsy, he was making more friends, his nightmares were coming less and less. She had hoped that the good old medicine of time would help him and was very satisfied with the results. Hmm, maybe she would talk to him tonight about getting his own apartment. But would she? She rather liked having him around now that he was more independent…

There was a knock at the door and she went over to it, still humming cheerfully, and peeked through the peep hole. Seeing that it was only Kent, she opened the door and grinned in rare good humor at the FBI Dalmatian.

"Hey, Kent, what's up?" she asked.

"Carmelita," Kent said gravely, hold a folder out to Carmelita. "It's about Sullivan…"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A warm spring sun was filtering in through the windows. Sullivan was sitting on the edge of his desk, business jacket removed and the top button of his shirt undone. In one hand he had a coffee mug and around him were some of his colleagues, enjoying one of his funny tales about hockey.

"And than," Sullivan chuckled. "He did it! Just picked Bern up and threw him over the wall and into the crowd!"

Everyone burst out laughing, oblivious to Todd as he came up beside Sullivan.

"I mean, Kyle's _small_!" Sullivan laughed before Todd caught his attention. "But he's stronger than he let's on!"

"It's Carmelita," the squirrel whispered to the raccoon. "And she's _not_ happy."

"Uh oh, got women troubles," Sullivan announced, setting his mug down. "Wish me luck!"

Everyone did so as he followed Todd to the counters out side. Sure enough, there was Carmelita in jeans and a tight red shirt under a brown jacket with her arms crossed across her chest and looking mad enough to melt stone. In one hand was clenched a small stack of photos. This did little to waver Sullivan's smile as he went up to the counter.

"What's up?" he asked.

"What's _up_?" Carmelita snarled. "What is _up_?"

"That's what I said," Sullivan replied.

_"This_ is what's up, Sullivan!" Carmelita snapped, slamming some photos down on the counter in front of Sullivan. Sullivan pulled them through the small opening at the bottom of the metal bar wall meant for money and flipped through the pictures. They were black and white photos of him running along the roof tops.

"How long have you been doing it, Hooper? How long have you been sneaking around behind my back?"

"Caramel," Sullivan said calmly, "I'm just getting some night exercise."

"By _running on the roof tops!?"_ Carmelita screeched. "That's not exercise, that's _practice!"_

Behind her, a group of men shuffled in, clad unusually heavily against the spring warmth. Like the handful of people in the bank that day, they were trying to put up the disguise of not caring when they were obviously listening into what appeared to be a lovers' spat between Carmelita and Sullivan.

"Practice for what?" Sullivan asked.

"You know what!" Carmelita yelled, getting her face close to the bars.

Everyone froze and stared at the vixen as her enraged voice echoed in the bank. Sullivan wanted to apologize and tell her that he was sorry, that he'd quite. But that part felt too much like lying down and curling up in a ball for his taste. Maybe, a few months ago, he would have obeyed it. But then again, a few months ago he wouldn't be running on icy roof tops in the night. No, he was confident and ready to leave the nest of his caretaker. If she threw him out, he could get by, he was sure, just like the turtle and kola hoboes—okay, bad choice, but they were still living! Anyway, Kyle was a cool sea lion; he could crash at the rubber-skinned bachelor's place. Or perhaps DD Dorm; he would _defiantly _take him in.

So, rather than apologize, or make promises he wouldn't keep, Sullivan smiled at her.

"You know, you look rather lovely when you're angry," he said.

He was hoping she'd scream. He was hoping she'd pull out her bazooka and shoot him. He was hoping she'd chase him clear to the docks in a fit of rage. But the reaction she gave was something he didn't expect. Her rage evaporated and what he saw was open amazement, even something like fear. He tilted his head to the side curiously. What was the matter? He had just complimented her.

Then the men in over-heavy winter gear in the back drew out guns from themselves and the world didn't revolve around the couple any more.

"Everybody on the ground now!" one of the men, a Rottweiler, roared. "This is a bank robbery!"

All five civilians on that dull Wednesday afternoon obediently dropped to the floor, crying out in fear. Three of the twelve-man group came forward and vaulted over the sections of the counter without bars. The countermen held their hands up and backed away, going into the backroom where it was (relatively) safe.

Carmelita reached under her jacket, reaching for her electric bazooka gun, but one of the robbers came up to her and placed his gun to her head.

"Ah, ah, ah, miss," the ferret growled. "Gimme the gun."

Sighing and rolling her eyes, but knowing that she was out numbered, Carmelita drew out her gun and gave it to the man. He whistled, turning it over in his hand.

"Nice piece," he complimented. Then he ran his eye up and down the vixen. "An even _nicer_ piece," he whistled.

A hand snapped around his neck and he squeaked as he was turned to the hand owner. It was Sullivan. While the robbers were in the midst of looting from the civilians, robbing the bank or staring at Carmelita, Sullivan had snuck around to the front of the counter and now sat on it, one hand on the ferret's neck. The other hand reached back and slammed its knuckles into his nose.

The ferret went down and Carmelita caught her bazooka before it hit the floor.

"Doyle!" one of he robbers yelled, turning his gun on the two.

"Duck!" Sullivan exclaimed, grabbing Carmelita and ducking behind the counter again.

"Hey! I take offense in that!" another one of the robbers, a man of the mentioned animal-come-verb, yelled.

"What's the plan, _thief?_" Carmelita hissed to Sullivan as they hid under a desk.

Sullivan looked at her with genuine confusion. "What are you talking about? I've never stolen anything in my life!"

"Ha! And I'm the Princess of Paris," Carmelita snarled. She put her bazooka to Sullivan's forehead. "Once we bust these bums, you are _so_ going to jail you little liar."

"Now, Carmelita, now is not the time for name calling," Sullivan told her peacefully. "And plus, you're the Princess of Paris to me."

"Aww—" Carmelita began, then cut herself off. "Hey!"

A corner of the desk blew up into splinters when someone shot at it.

_"We're talking here!!!"_ Carmelita screamed at the robbers.

The gun fire shifted to shoot at another area of the bank and Sullivan and Carmelita exchanged stares.

"What?" Carmelita asked.

"I love you."

"Shut up."

"Shall we talk as we kick some butt?" Sullivan suggested.

"Yeah, sure," Carmelita growled, her ears drooping.

They both jumped out from under the desk at the same time.

Carmelita swung her gun up and took out two of the men behind the counter. Sly rolled forward and kicked the third man in the face as he was jumping back up to his feet. He looked down at his fallen opponent, then over at Carmelita.

"How did I _do_ that?" he asked.

They both ducked as the other robbers opened gun fire on them. They had to shout over the gun fire that continued to rain uselessly around them. They were protected by the metal counter.

"What, you say you don't remember your past, criminal?" Carmelita growled, sneaking up to the counter.

"Carmelita, I know I've been acting sorta weird lately, what, with the roof top runs and all, but I still can't remember my past! Carmelita… how much of my past are you hiding?"

Carmelita looked at Sullivan, then looked away. Sullivan's ears perked up, then lowered themselves. So, it was true: Carmelita knew of his past and never told him. What had he done in his past life? Why hadn't she ever told him about it? Was that the only reason she ever took care of him; to make sure he didn't go bad again? She _was_ a cop, and a good one at that. Comparing her reaction to his possibly criminal activity of running on the roof tops of the city and her most extreme reaction to her worst criminals, Sullivan had been one _bad_ guy before he lost his memory. But how did he loose his memory? Did Carmelita have a hand in it? What was she going to do to him if she suspected that he had regained his memories? What was _he_ going to do if he regained his memories?

The rain of bullets stopped.

"Get over there and shoot them point blank, you idiots!" one of the robbers snarled.

"Who's going to be shooting at who at point blank range?" Carmelita growled softly through clenched teeth, raising her gun.

Sullivan got up and began creeping away.

"Sullivan! What are you doing??" Carmelita hissed at him. She could hear approaching boots. "Stay here!"

"No," Sullivan replied, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Ooh, you are _so_ immature!" the vixen snarled.

Sullivan grinned at her.

"You know, I know I said this in less crude words before, but I think I'll say this with these robbers' style; babe, you're down right smoking hot when you're ticked."

The three robbers that had dared approach the counter were forced to back up as Carmelita screamed and Sullivan _vaulted_ over the metal bar wall, scrambling away from vixen that followed him. Carmelita was firing left and right in pure rage and two of the robbers went out when they were unfortunate enough to be struck dead-on by the stunning balls of energy. Another one was knocked on his tail end when the ball of energy struck his arm and paralyzed it. Out of twelve, there were now seven robbers.

The robbers, utterly confused as to what the deal between the attractive vixen and the shades-wearing raccoon was, shot between the two with their automatic rifles, stuck in between annoyed at how the robbery was going and unsure if they wanted to kill a couple of nut jobs.

"Really, _shooting?_" Sullivan sighed, appearing behind a rat and kicking him in the back of the head. He caught the gun before it hit the ground and swung it backwards without looking, slamming the butt of it into a feline's face.

"That's so _crude_," Sullivan scolded, swinging the gun like a baseball bat and hitting the aforementioned goose upside the head. He stopped and blinked dumbly, then looked around as he scratched his head.

"And why did I just say that?" he asked.

"Oy! Coon man!"

Sullivan looked up to see that the remaining robbers were either coming out of the safe, sacks of cash flung over their backs, or were holding their guns to Carmelita's head. The leader, a black rat, was holding her gun.

"Knock it off with knocking out our guys and we won't knock off your girlfriend!" the rat snapped.

"Carmelita…" Sullivan whispered, dropping his gun and taking a step towards her.

"Night-y night, coon man," the rat growled, raising his gun.

"No!" Carmelita screamed.

But the rat pulled the trigger and Sullivan was knocked off his feet as extreme pain spurted up in a red fountain from his left shoulder. He landed hard on his back and his head cracked against the marble floor as he cried out in pain. Blood was rushing to his head and out his wound, but something had happened; the rat had set off a chain of events.

A small ball of metal flew through the air and landed at the feet of the robbers, its red light blinking. They had one second to stare at it dumbly before it burst, releasing grey smoke everywhere. Carmelita, the robbers, and the few civilians, coughed as the little smoke bomb filled the entire bank. Sullivan inhaled some of it himself and felt his mind spinning, resuming its foggy demeanor that he had been working so hard to get rid of before he started loosing feeling in his body. He started closing his eyes…

Someone ran into the smoke, protected from its tranquilizing effects by a gas mask, and picked Sullivan up. Outside, a taxi was waiting. The driver turned and looked at Sullivan when he was put in the back of the cab.

"Holy cow!" the hippo exclaimed.

"Drive, man, drive!" the lizard who had kidnapped Sullivan exclaimed.

Slamming on the gas, the hippo complied.


	13. Welcome Back

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 13: Welcome Back**

_There was little Sullivan again, in the pool of light amidst darkness. But this time, he stared at the grey metal pieces of the puzzle for a long time before throwing them over his shoulder and turning his attention to the blue and white pieces. But the blue and white pieces were much harder to put together and little Sullivan's big brown eyes started filling up with tears as he shoved piece after piece together, but none of the soft blue and white metal pieces would fit together. He heard some one approach and looked up to see a small green turtle boy with enormous glasses sit beside him._

_"Here, like this, Sly" the little turtle boy said._

_The turtle boy took the puzzle pieces Sullivan was holding and turned then around some before putting them back in Sullivan's hands. Sullivan glanced at the turtle before putting the two pieces together. They fit perfectly, forming into one piece with a click. Sullivan's eyes and ears perked up as he made a pleased sound and eagerly began to put the pieces together. Some of the pieces were hard to pick up, and when he came to the last piece, he was dismayed to find that it was too heavy to pick up._

_"The Murray can do it!" another boy declared as a pink hand closed around Sullivan's own._

_Sullivan looked up to find himself looking into the face of a grinning pink hippo boy, over weight, but strong. The hippo revealed his strength by helping Sullivan lift the last heavy piece. The turtle reached in and helped them turn the piece before all three slid it into the puzzle._

_The hippo and turtle faded out as little Sullivan looked at the finished piece; a kitchen plate-sized raccoon insignia with white eyes and muzzle with blue all else. A feeling of friendliness and familiarity radiated from the raccoon face. Then it began to glow, and while little Sullivan couldn't put it down, he had no fear even as the light grew to blind him._

_Then…_

_His life flashed before his eyes._

_He was in a closet, watching his parents be murdered, now he was in an orphanage, meeting Murray the brawn and hippo and Bentley the intelligent turtle. Now they were flying through all their missions, from Clockwork to Clock-La to all the ones in between. Meeting friends, making enemies, chasing treasure, defending his family's treasure, then… gaining amnesia as he saved Carmelita. Wow._

_He remembered, he realized. He remembered that he was Sly Cooper, not Sullivan Hooper, but Sly Cooper, heir to a legacy of thievery and skills and the Theivieus Raccoonus. __That__ was why he had been so restless all this time, he was living a lie! But it was a sweet lie, now that he realized it; a sweet lie because he had been with Carmelita the whole time._

_For a long moment, Sullivan/Sly was caught up in the weirdest mental frame of his life, or for any one's life, for that matter. He was Sullivan, the clumsy, restless bank accountant, and yet, he was Sly the clever dashing criminal-snatching thief. He was thinking on two separate mental tracks at the same time and his two halves of his brain looked at each other in a combined "What the heck?" moment. _

_All the memories faded out and he was once more staring at the insignia but it was a small badge in his adult hands now. A blue gloved hand rested on the badge and lowered it, making Sullivan looked up into the masked face of Sly Cooper. Standing in his professional grey business suit and his black sunglasses, Sullivan and Sly stared at each other silently. _

_Sly Cooper wore a blue tunic with matching blue gloves with yellow cuffs, soft-soled blue boots, and a red pocket strapped to his right thigh. A blue cap with a yellow bill was perched on top of Cooper's head and a black mask was wrapped around his brown eyes. A red back pack was on Cooper's back and a long blue cane tapped in gold was grasped in Sly Cooper's left hand. _

_They stared at each other for a long moment. It was most defiantly a spooky, eerie feeling, to be staring at and to be stared at by a completely different aspect of ones self. But a certain kind of peace and agreement was created between them without words; an acknowledgement that one of them was merely a duller, simpler, temporary replacement personality to mask and hold onto the real one before they were resurrected. But this temporary side would still exist in synch with the real one._

_Thus the two introduced themselves as they shook hands._

"_Sullivan Hooper."_

"_Sly Cooper. It was a pleasure."_

_Then a blinding light filled the world once more and Sullivan Hooper was no more._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Yeah!" Sly cheered, sitting up in bed with both fists punching the air.

A sharp pain bit his left shoulder and he fell right back down, the grin on his face not moving, just like his arms, as he stated, "Oww."

"M-Mr. Hooper?" a nervous lavender-colored mouse asked beside him. Looking up, Sullivan found himself in a six-by seven foot room with peacock-green walls, matching the old, dark brown wooden floor boards. His bed was green and shoved in the corner with a small, lamp-baring beside table beside him. The lavender mouse was the same as DD "Ladies' God" Dorm's driver, but now she was dressed in over alls with a yellow tee-shirt and a red bandana on her blond hair. Right now, she stared at Sly with wide, nervous eyes, as if afraid that he would dissolve into goo at any moment or worse, be unable to recognize her. But Sly recognized her…

"W-What was the last thing you remember?" the woman ventured.

"Oh, hey, Penelope," Sly replied, rubbing his bandaged shoulder.

"You're back!" Penelope yelled happily, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Yeah," Sly laughed, flinching when his wound whined against the touch. "Nothing like a gun shot wound to make you remember, eh? How's everyone doing?"

Penelope broke from him and ran to the door, flinging it open eagerly.

"Guys!" Penelope yelled out side the door. "Sly's awake and he remembers!"

Sly heard feet stampeding to the room and something crashed over before Penelope had to jump aside as Sly's old gang crammed itself into his small room.

Leading the way was Murray the pink hippo, dressed in a pale blue shirt, a short white scarf, and a brown leader wrestling mask to match his fingerless, silver-knuckle-studded gloves. Massive in girth, he was also massive in strength in heart.

Beside Murray was Bentley, a scrawny wheelchair-bound squirrel dressed in a white smock with round glasses. Boyfriend of Penelope and the team's genius, Bentley's becoming-handicap had cased Murray from the team out of guilt, blaming himself for being unable to protect Bentley in the fight that removed the use of his legs, before the strong hippo had come back. Bentley had not let his handicap come over him, as he had simply upgraded it to hold equipment and even have rockets.

I repeat: _rockets_.

Bentley and Murray were Sly's oldest friends and team mates.

Following behind them was Dimitri with the Guru on his shoulders.

Dimitri the bright green, purple-haired iguana had originally been one of Sly's foes, a painting-fraud, wild artist before he went straight. Now the club-owning, super-slang-tongued lizard was apart of Sly's team as a frogman; a diver for underwater missions. Sly remembered when Dimitri's face had been a whole lot uglier, but ever sense he had joined the team, he had quite smoking and his late-night parties (most of them), and had even lain off the booze and the harmful painting chemicals that had come with being a painting fraud. All of that together had tightened his sagging, scaly skin and made him … well, not attractive, but not _as_ ugly. Still ugly, though.

The Guru was a short purple koala with beads in his main and tribal paint on his face, never far from his staff of power. Murray had met up with the Guru in his time off from the team after Bentley had lost the use of his legs and taught him to control his wild energies and not just charge in like a maniac. _His_ abilities were mind control, changing into simple house hold objects, and even, at rare occasions, a manipulation of time and space.

Little dude, big attitude.

The last person was the Panda King. He had been apart of the Fiendish Five, the group that had helped Sly kill his parents for the perfect guide of thief tricks; the Theivieus Raccoonus. It had taken a long time for him to fully trust, much less _like_ the enormous panda man, but he had trusted his friends and now the Panda King was the team's demolition expert.

That only leaves Penelope to explain.

Penelope was a lavender mouse girl and the girlfriend of Bentley—yes, Bentley the turtle nerd—as well as the team's mechanic.

Now, as they all crowded around him, Sly couldn't believe that he had ever forgotten them. He also was shocked to realize that they had been around him all this time and he never realized. He said such.

"How could I not remember with you guys right in front of my nose?" Sly suddenly spoke up, grinning as he hugged the Guru with one arm and Bentley with the other. "I mean, the Guru and Bentley pretended to be hoboes, Penelope visited me at my hockey games, and Dimitri and Panda King were _working_ with me. Murray, it was you that one day at the skating rink, wasn't it?"

"Sure was!" Murray said cheerfully.

"And in the taxi cab!"

"Duh!"

"Oh, wow," Sly laughed, rubbed his face and drawing fact that he had nothing over his eyes. "Wow, this all so cool. Um, can I get my old mask and outfit back or something? Kinda naked in front of the girl here."

There were amused chuckles all around and Penelope blushed.

"So, seriously, how-I mean…" Sly raised a hand and dropped it helplessly.

"Well, Sly," Bentley explained. "The chances of harming your physic were seriously high if we tried taking you from a comfortable environment and attempted to force your memories to surface, if, in deed, they ever _were_ going to surface again. So, rather than permanently scar you, we decided to don on numerous disguises and keep an eye on you, protecting you from thugs, being there to help out a little, things like that."

"Guardian angel thieves?" Sly chuckled. "Sounds like a rock band. So, how soon until I can be up and working again? I'm ready to go back to my old ways with my own crew."

He laughed as Guru jumped down onto his lap, Penelope hugged him, and every cheered positively.

"What do you have in mind, Sly?" Murray asked.

"Something along the lines of revenge and coming back into the spot light with a bang," Sly Cooper replied as a slow, clever grin crossed his face.


	14. The Night Claims its Own

**Disclaimer: Sucker Punch owns Sly Cooper. I own the story.**

**Chapter 14: The Night Claims its Own**

"I'm sorry, Inspector," Todd said told the vixen, "But we just can't find any sign of the three crooks who got away, and we can't find… him."

"You never noticed?" Carmelita asked the squirrel quietly, turning her gaze away from the crime scene covering the bank lobby to look at Todd. "You never noticed him changing back, even though that was why you were here undercover?"

The undercover FBI agent squirrel looked down with something like shame.

"None of us noticed," he said sadly. "Of all of us; all the FBI and police agents working undercover around him here at work and at the hockey rink, none of us noticed… No, no, I'm lying…"

He looked up and at Carmelita square in the eye.

"We _did_ notice," he said. "We noticed _weeks_ ago. But none of us reported in because we _wanted_ him back. Crime rate has sky rocketed ever since he lost his memories. We've all lost friends in this new crime spree in our effort to stop it. We don't want Sullivan Hooper, a clumsy, shy accountant who obeys the rules so we can over look him and get on with more important people. We want _Sly Cooper_, the infamous thief who steals from other thieves and crooks and puts them out of business for us _without killing anyone_. We want Sly Cooper, the legend. We want Sly Cooper, the world's only honorable thief."

Carmelita stared at Todd for a long moment in an odd way, looking like she was in a mix between shock and just zoning out into zombie land. Finally, her hand moved to the handcuffs clipped to her belt.

"I could have you arrested for disobedience of direct orders," she said.

"You noticed it, too," Todd objected gently. "You have been happier these past few weeks. Why, Carmelita? Why were you happier?"

Carmelita looked down. Her head sank and her hand dropped from the handcuffs.

"Because it was the ring-tail I fell in love with," she whispered, tears growing in her eyes. "And now… and now I don't think he's coming back…"

"Don't worry, he'll be back."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're the only cop who's ever kept up with him, that's why. Now, this will become one of those mutual aspects of life," Todd said, placing a hand on Carmelita's shoulder in comfort. "Like how the reporters hid FDR's mistress, we will hide the fact that we knew the face behind the mask and even let him get away. Now…" He grinned, "When do you think he'll reappear?"

Carmelita looked to the ceiling, then smirked at Todd.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Across town a week and a half later, an abandoned apartment building was lit up by flash lights and electric lanterns stationed around an area of crates filled with guns, ammo, and money. Here, the Rottweiler, black rat, and ferret from the bank heist sat, counting money and bundling it away and packing their most essential weapons in their backpacks.

"Well, look at the bright side," the ferret said, stuffing some money into his pack. "More cash to split amongst ourselves!"

"Yeah, but my brother's gonna rot in jail, while I sip juice in Hawaii," the rat growled.

"At least _you're_ free," the Rottweiler pointed out. "Which is better than nothing," he snickered.

"Hey, did you hear that?" the ferret asked, looking up. "Rick, got check it out!"

"Oh no you don't!" the rat snarled, "I'm not going to go looking for something that's not there so you can stuff _my_ money in with _your_ share!"

"Just go do it, Rick!" the Rottweiler snapped.

"Why, Doug?"

"Because Fredric has time rights over you; he was in the gang longer, so you obey him. Now go get and check it!"

"Oh fine, fine," Rick the rat grumbled, getting to his feet and reluctantly stomping out of the room.

Behind him, the Doug and Fredric exchanged toothy grins and hastily stuffed Rick's money into their own bags before shutting off the lights, taking a flashlight each for themselves, and quitted the room through another exit. A few minutes later, Fredric the ferret stopped and looked behind himself when he heard a distant crash. The Rottweiler leader also stopped.

"Uh, Boss?"Fredric asked nervously. "That didn't sound good."

"Either Rick's stumbled back into the room or the feds found us," Doug growled. He took off running, calling, "Come on!"

Fredric followed Doug down the narrow hall and out of an emergency door that led to a large hollowed out area of the apartment building where several of the floors had long since fallen in from rot and an ancient fire. Fredric turned around, walking backwards, and scanned the darkness behind him with his flashlight, looking for the glint of light on metallic gun barrels or plastic goggles and bullet shields. Doug stumbled behind him and he turned back around, only to see Doug's flashlight clatter to the floor.

He stood there for a moment in shock on the cat walk breaching over the crumbled apartment area, his jaw dropping open in surprise and fear. This was a horror movie waiting to happen, he thought. This was the part where either a scary super hero jumps down and gets him, or he'll slowly turn around to see a zombie, a blood-covered killer, or a monster, which will then pounce on him and—

_Turn fast!_ He thought, spinning around and drawing his gun out.

Well, at least he _tired_ drawing his gun out, but a glance at his belt where he was pawing the air for a familiar handle only revealed that the weapon was not there. But it had just been there! His hip still remembered feeling the metal pressing into it!

"Looking for this?"

Looking up, Fredric saw a well built figure sitting in the rafters just over head, spinning the stolen gun in one hand while the other gripped a long, gold-capped cane. Fredric couldn't make much out except that, as well as a bushy tail, but he knew that he was in trouble unless he talked fast.

"Look, man, we can cut a deal," he stammered out. "I take half, you take half, we split, yeah? I got this cool place in Hawaii—"

"How about this?" the figure said, pointing the cane and gun both at the ferret. "You choose your weapon of these two and we'll fight. Who ever wins gets the cash and gets away scat clean, deal?"

What else could Fredric think? Man's most deadly common weapon against a stick with a hook (and not even a sharp one!) on it? It was an easy win, in the ferret's eyes.

"Gun!" he declared.

The figure tossed the gun down and Fredric caught it. He checked it, making sure that there were still bullets in it. Satisfied, he pointed it up, grinning confidently.

"Alright, freak," he began, "Get ready to taste—"

The figure was gone.

"Lead," he finished, his confident smile falling in dismay.

Fredric looked around for any sight of the figure, but saw nothing except the moon light seeping in through holes in the ceiling. He turned around and around, the fear with in rising with every turn when he did not see his opponent. He looked up, down, and all around, but no where did he see the figure. A couple of rocks of rubble tapped against each other and he spun around, shooting at them. The single gun shot fairly blew up the silence and echoed off into the strangely silent city night. He saw that he had shot nothing and stood there, panting as his heart began to beat more quickly.

"Perhaps it would help if you were more patient and less afraid?" a soft male voice whispered in his ear.

Then something caught the back of his belt, making him drop his gun as he was flung high into the air. The pull changed itself and wrenched him down, slamming him into the ground and unconscious.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Sullivan, a thief?_ Freelance thought, looking over all his notes of his ex-patient spread on the desk in front of him. He had received news of this change of events when he had called Sullivan, reminding him of their appointment that Friday, and had gotten Carmelita, instead.

_Well, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised,_ he thought. _But an interesting thought; everyone in this case is referring to him as a 'him' or 'thief' and not the typical 'the lousy crook' or 'suspect' or even 'fugitive' common with in the speech of the law holders here. Giving him an identity and a specific title, thief; could that be a wink that he is more important to even the law holders than they will ever admit? Perhaps some of them even think highly of him? Understandable. If Sullivan is indeed the notorious Sly Cooper they claim him to be, the very Sly Cooper who steals from thieves, then he is a positive aspect of the world. A strange one, but a positive one, none the less._

_Hmm, now that I think of it, having been the psychiatrist and even friend of a world class thief may have its notes manifested in a good book…_

Freelance began nodding to himself, then stopped, lifting his head and pricking his ears in realization. He clasped his hands to his head and sat up suddenly, his long tail puffing up in shock.

"HOLY COW!!" he shouted. "I HEAD SHRANK A WORLD-CLASS CRIMINAL!!"

Something clunked in another room and he looked in its direction, his tail stiffening in surprise and fear.

"Hello?" he called.

Dropping down from his seat, the small lemur walked over to his patient room where the arm chair and couch were. He attempted to turn on the light, but the light blew immediately; he needed to replace the light bulb. He looked around the dark shadows, lit only by the moon light falling into the room. He looked around nervously.

"Hello?" he called again. He stopped, his ears laying back in nervousness. "Sullivan?" His tail scrunched to him in worry.

"Sly Cooper?" he whispered.

"Good evening, doctor."

Yipping in surprise, Freelance leaped clear to the top of his arm chair as the blue and yellow-outfitted raccoon thief appeared from the shadows. The raccoon's large grin, as bright as the slice of moon it mimicked, flashed as he set a package down on the couch.

"Just wanted to pay my due before I left town for a while," Sly chuckled.

"Oh my gosh, it was true," Freelance whispered, his hand fluttering over his muzzle. "Um, uh, I just want to ask, before you leave…. How much of Sullivan is still… here?"

"Sullivan and I are the same person, Dr. Freelance," Sly Cooper replied. "He just couldn't remember his past."

"Fascinating," Freelance whispered.

The lemur perked his ears up when he heard feet stampeding up the building's stairs and looked to the door.

"What in the world--?" he began.

"Ah, yes, them," Sly chuckled. "I was a bit of a show off and dropped some crooks off right in the cops' laps. And on thier car hoods. And in their laundry.... I also happen to be borrowing a phoenix made of pure ruby from the local museum, but then again, that might not be _that_ important--"

"Ooh, they're going to hate you for that," Freelance commented, tucking the money package into his jacket as Sly went over to the window and hopped into the sill.

"I should hope so!" Sly laughed, "Or else they're not doing a very good job!"

Just then, the police burst in through the door behind the raccoon and lemur, led by Carmelita. Sly leaped off of the windowsill, catching the cane of his hook on a clothes like and sliding down to a fire escape on the other building. Carmelita followed suit while the other officers stared in shock. Putting her bazooka over the line and gripping either end, she slid after Sly and chased him up the other building's fire escape to the roof.

Around cooling systems, over roof top pent houses, along clothes lines, on top of light poles, and down electricity cables Sly led the chase. In his own eyes, a field of blue sparkles appeared around him, tracing all the possible paths and tricks of the world around him. Where anyone else saw a barren wall, he saw a pipe to creep up. Where someone saw a too-wide of a roof gap to leap over, he saw a clothes line to slide down. Where someone saw a rusty, ripped up water spout, he saw a rail to slip down as slick as oil. The moon and stars were Sly's and Carmelita's spot light, who ever happened to be partying in the warm night on the roofs or look out their windows were their witnesses, and the endless land of roof tops and niches were their playground.

Later people would relate to their comrades that they felt a certain something if they saw the raccoon and vixen chase; either a feeling of fear if they were a crook, knowing that their days were numbered. Or they felt a feeling of relief if they were a cop, knowing that a rather strange ally as on their side once more. Or, best of all, if they were just an ordinary citizen, they would feel the soul of adventure flare up in them, realizing that a legend had been reawakened with in the world.

Jumping high from a low roof, Sly Cooper landed on a small balcony and rolled inside. Carmelita Fox followed suit, rolling to her feet in the room beyond the balcony and raising her gun. Then she stopped short, recognizing where they were.

"My place?" Carmelita asked, looking around Sly's old, bare room in shock.

"I think we're already there," Sly chuckled, drawing attention to himself as he came from the shadows.

"Freeze, Cooper!" Carmelita snapped, pointing her bazooka at him.

The hook of Cooper's cane came down, gently gripping the barrel of the bazooka and lowering it. Carmelita barely resisted as Sly approached her. They stood like that, staring into each other's eyes with their weapons entangled. Sly Cooper suddenly smiled and brushed Carmelita's chin with his gloved fingers.

"Until next time?" he asked.

"Yeah, until next time," Carmelita whispered as their faces drew closer. "Ringtail…"

Their tails came and linked, holding each other's gun and cane up so that their arms were free to reach up and wrap around each other. The world momentarily became blind to them, and they momentarily became blind to the world, as their lips, like their professions, met.

Behind them, the full moon seemed larger than natural, filling the window. Everyone would agree later that that night, the moon glowed brighter than it had had in a long, long time. Certain people would even think it had come closer to the world to peer at the mortals.

For the night claims its own, you see,

And has done so for every thief in history.

Whether they wield blade, gun, or cane

The moon watches over every crook that's ever came

Away from the day and to her light

Forsaking what society deems wrong and right.

So you who bear sack, glove, and mask

Come, for the night will help you fulfill your task.

Keep to the shadows, do not falter,

As you snatch away silver, cold, and copper.

For the night claims its own, you see,

And has done so for every thief in history.

**THE END**


End file.
